No Time For Angst
by angelwingz21
Summary: The coming together of one Dean Winchester and one Castiel Novak. "Because, on the USS Destiel, there's no time for angst." Human AU. Slash. OBVIOUSLY Destiel.
1. Goodbye, Narnia!

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER I: THE ONE WHERE DEAN SAYS GOODBYE TO NARNIA**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: A touch of inspirational message, a dollop of humor, and a dash of reality.**

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Let it never be said that growing up is easy.

The tumultuous shove and drag of hormones, family traditions, and pop culture twist together to become a more than worthy enemy to the teenager's sanity. To find a way to balance the obligations to family with one self's freedom is an adolescent's greatest achievement.

It is a wonderful thing, becoming comfortable in your own skin, letting no one beat you down with words and attitude. It is empowering, having your peers detect the confidence brimming out of you, and instinctually respect you for it.

Sadly, not everyone reaches that level; the one where one says, "This is who I am. I am happy to be who I am. You cannot change who I am," with a wide smile on one's face.

That is why High School has become the equivalent of Hell for too many.

Thankfully, this is not Dean Winchester's story.

Dean is a young man who at the age of fifteen knows what he likes from life, what he wants from it, and is extremely happy with what it has already given him.

He has an incredibly smart younger brother, a powerful and fearless father, an understanding uncle and aunt, and an amazing cousin. He has a large build, with model-like good looks, hair that falls just where he wants it, and mossy green eyes. He's book smart enough to not get hounded by teachers, street smart enough to not get eaten alive out of school, and sports smart enough to get into varsity football and bask in the glory this brought. He's sweet and charming enough to melt all the girls around him. He's also rough and assertive enough to rile up and _grapple_ with any guy who's willing. He's good enough in bed to leave them all a bit moon-eyed as he winks a mischievous goodbye over his shoulder.

Dean Winchester has his life together, and it shows in the way he walks, talks, and acts.

It's just that no one but he knew just how certain he was of himself. Or, more accurately, how certain he was of his sexuality.

Because it was truly terrible how society had decided that attraction, and love, towards the same gender was forbidden. Sickening. Punishable by God. And now that eyes were being slowly, and painfully, peeled, the subject has become a taboo in the small towns of America. Only the brave and the self-assured could smash through it all and remain standing, like an immovable stone in the face of a hurricane.

And by God, Dean was the bravest, most self-assured of them all. He would rise against the multitude and _be. _He owed nothing to anyone but his family. That is why tonight, Dean Winchester will reveal the last hidden aspect of him, to his little family in Sioux Falls.

He will loudly proclaim who he is. He will be proud of who he is. The catharsis of the release will make him a better man, a stronger being. Tonight will truly cement a sturdy path into the wilderness of Life.

* * *

"So like, I think guy's penises are as hot as girl's v's," Dean states as he spears another piece of rib-eye steak with his fork and then drops it in his still full-of-mashed-potatoes mouth.

Uncle Bobby chokes on his beer. Aunt Ellen drops her fork to the floor.

"Seriously?" Sam asks from his right, trying to decipher whether his brother is just trying to be annoying at the dinner table or is actually truthful. Dean smiles at him around a mess of food and proceeds to cut himself another piece of steak.

"Dean?" Ellen begins, but is cut off by an incredulous, "What?" from Bobby.

"He's got the whole AC/DC thing down pat," Jo comments airily from the other side of the table as she serves herself more sweet tea. Sam goes back to spooning mashed potatoes towards his mouth.

"What?" This time it's Aunt Ellen, while Bobby's face just does this frowning/bewildered movement.

"I swing both ways," Dean answers after drinking down half of his glass of iced tea. There's silence from the adults. Jo grabs the pepper shaker and flavors her food a bit more. Sam reaches for more steak sauce, while surreptitiously (not really) looking at his uncle from under his brow.

Dean does this weird shoulder clench thing he does whenever there's an uncomfortable silence, and just blurts out, "I'm bisexual."

"We get it," Aunt Ellen sort-of-snaps, like she does whenever one of her brood starts to babble.

"You kept staring at me in silence," he defends himself a little grumpily as he pushes his broccoli out of the way to serve himself more potato.

"You just told us you're bisexual and you expect us to be all 'ladeedah' about it?" asks Bobby, a little wide-eyed. To his left, Jo reads a text message while biting into a flower head of broccoli.

"Are you mad at me now?" the teenager asks, a bit confused, a bit subdued. Sam stops pretending and just full on stares with that puppy-eyed look. Jo rolls her eyes.

"No!" Bobby declares too loudly, causing Ellen to startle a little and place a hand on the older man's arm. The sudden slump to his shoulders is ridiculously obvious.

"What Bobby means: it's just surprising, is all. We just, never even considered the possibility you might like boys the same as girls," her voice is soft and melodious; the voice of reason. Uncle Bobby cants his head to the side—his silent way of admitting that his wife has just said everything he was thinking, out loud, only better sounding.

"I've always known there was something weird about him," Sam remarks with a shrug, before attacking his brother's broccoli.

"I've always known there was something weird about your face," Dean fires back, and smirks when Sammy huffs.

"Since, since when…" Bobby begins, but trails off. Obviously his brain is still loading.

"…have I noticed guys?" Dean finishes, because the question is still an obvious one. Jo interrupts before he can answer, though.

"Keith Sunders, fourth grade." Her tone is matter of fact. The sky is blue. Plants are green. Dean is bi.

Said Winchester smiles as he reminisces. "Biggest brown eyes I've ever seen."

"Keith Sunders? You got suspended for brawling with that kid!"

"Yeah," he sighs, "I did."

"Ok then, everything's ok," Aunt Ellen's soothing voice sounds lighter as she goes back to her plate after cleaning her fork with a napkin. "We support you in your decisions, and we are and will always be proud of you."

Dean's heart warms. "Thanks."

Slowly, Bobby goes back to his own food, and for a few minutes, everything is as peaceful as it's going to get. But then the older man stops eating again, and Dean raises his eyes from his plate when he notices the sudden pause.

Bobby's muddy eyes are warm, and there's a quirk to his mouth that settles the last of the teenager's uncertainties.

"Have you told your dad yet?"

And there goes his nerves.

* * *

John Winchester works for the government. That is all he's allowed to say. That was all his Mary, God rest her soul, was allowed to say. That was all both their sets of parents were allowed to say.

So John is, most of the time, unfortunately, too busy with government_ issues _in the most random countries of the world to truly take care of his sons. He's eternally grateful that his once-mentor had been willing to take the mantle of caregiver to his children. It's harsh, being so unattached in the rearing of his own boys, but Jesus, the things he had stopped from happening not thirty hours ago.

But he was on a break now, because he absolutely refuses to forget his children; it was easy to do so, in his line of work. So he stopped _something_ from happening and then declared he was taking time off, and before anybody could even object, John Winchester had left the building. Literally.

And he came with light-hearted stories, and souvenirs and smiles. And he fixed cars with his eldest, and he did homework with his youngest, and he sparred with both of them. There was long hours of pointless fishing, and teaching phrases in foreign languages, and just _listening_ to what his children had to say.

At the end of his vacation, John took Sammy away for a whole day, just the two of them. Then, he did the same with Dean.

They are eating dinner at this diner where you can see George Washington's head on Mount Rushmore poking from the top corner of the giant glass window by their table, when Dean opens his mouth.

"You know, I think sausage is just as awesome as muffin."

And one doesn't get to stop the things he does with an innocent, clean brain. So of course John gets what his son saying. Immediately.

"What?" the father asks, because even though he gets what had been said, he's not processing it all that well.

"I'm ambisextrous," the teenager announces after putting down his fork.

John's eyebrows are in danger of fusing together with how much he's frowning.

"I swing both ways." At this, John comes back to reality, and he opens and closes his mouth a couple times, and blinks rapidly, because maybe that'll make his brain work faster.

"I'm bisexual."

"I get it!"

"Oh."

And then there's silence. Because he knows how to diffuse a bomb with only seven seconds to go, but this right here? This is like the Byblos syllabary.

What's left of the day is completely awkward, and Dean doesn't say goodnight to him before he hides himself under the covers of his motel bed, and John feels like an ass.

They return to Bobby and Ellen's house the next morning, and Sammy just knows something happened, because those big, puppy, sad (scary) eyes land on him and refuse to leave. They stay stuck to the back of his neck when he drops his bag on the bed next to Sam's, they stay stuck as he shucks off his jacket and takes off his boots. They stay stuck even when he's hiding in the bathroom, pretending to get the tiredness out of his face with a splash of water.

He can sleep like a baby next to a firing machine gun.

John leaves the bathroom and walks down the hallway over to his eldest's room, idly scratching away the burn from his neck.

Dean is laying on his back on the bed with the grey covers and the '67 black Impala poster by the head—Jo's bed is the one with the purple covers and a '72 cherry-red Chevelle poster by the head—fully clothed and listening to Led Zeppelin. It's the tape he left him eight years ago; he didn't think he'd see his son's big green eyes ever again. But he did, thank God, he did.

He enters the room clearing his throat, and Dean opens those eyes of his and locks gazes with him.

"You know," he begins awkwardly, because only his sons could ever make him feel awkward, "I took your mother to a Zeppelin concert for our third date."

The teenager sits up, still obviously wary, but way too curious. "Really?"

"Yeah," his voice cracks, so he clears his throat again as he sits next to his son. "Yeah. At first, I thought it'd be a great idea, but then the crowd started getting rowdy and I worried, you know? But Mary she just," at this, John smiles, wide and bittersweet, "she just laughed, and danced."

Dean smiles too, and it's like the world is finally starting to make sense again.

* * *

**TBC**

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**Review?**


	2. Blushing Virgins

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER II: THE ONE WERE DEAN AND CASTIEL ARE BLUSHING VIRGINS**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: There's the Disney version, and then there's the *hot* hard truth (iykwim). **

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It's funny, how the Singer-Harvelle-Winchester clan just comes together to eat, especially during summer. During the day, Jo's always off with her girlfriends, Sam geeks out over at day camp, Ellen works longer hours at The RoadHouse, and Dean splits his time with helping Bobby out with his business and fixing up the last of his Impala's kinks. But as soon as dinner time arrives, everyone just automatically drops whatever it is their doing—Ellen a little earlier, because she's the one cooking—and helps set the table before plopping down and gorging on whatever the food masterpiece of the day is.

Dinner is wonderful, because everyone's excited to talk about their day, so they all speak over each other while passing around plates, laughing at jokes and loudly commenting their opinions. Which is why everyone notices Dean's silence. There's nothing somber about it; the sixteen-year-old has this quirky little smile on his face as he shovels pieces of potatoes and carrots into his spoon with so much gusto it's bordering on scary.

The last time he'd been this chipper at the dinner table, not two hours later, Dana Carroll's father had arrived with a machete trying to get at "the bastard son of a bitch who fucking deflowered my baby girl!" Which had actually been Charlie Dunn back in seventh grade, and everyone but Dana's daddy knew that.

So yes, it was with a little trepidation that Aunt Ellen asked what got him in such a good mood.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I just really like pot roast."

"Or," Uncle Bobby begins, even better at the nonchalance, "he just really likes this kid he met today."

"Really?" Ellen begins just as Jo exclaims, "Dude! Tell me this stuff!" quickly followed by, "Is she blonde?" from Sammy.

He points at Aunt Ellen, "Yes," he points at Jo, "I'm telling you now," he points at his kid brother, "No."

Bobby leans back in his chair, self-satisfied smile on his face because he finally finds out something before everyone else in the family.

"His name's Castiel," Dean tells his pot roast.

Jo shrieks, Ellen's eyebrows rise, and Sammy just asks, "Is _he _blonde?"

"No, he's not blonde, Sammy," Dean tries to answer over Jo's hysterical, "Your first family announced male on male attraction!"

"They made moon eyes at each other from the moment they met," Bobby states and the teenager flushes.

"Moon eyes!" Jo shrieks, but she's largely ignored in favor of listening to Ellen's sensible, "Is he new in town?"

"Yeah, just moved in with his uncle. Bought a farmhouse about a dozen miles from here."

"They exchanged phone numbers, and generally acted like blushing virgins around each other," and you can just hear the amusement in Bobby's town.

"Virgin? Dean?" Jo wheezes out so incredulously it borders on obnoxious. Sammy snorts so loudly milk actually comes out of his nose.

The subject in question flushes so much Ellen worries that capillaries might start bursting, so she raises a hand and everyone settles, as easy as that.

"Well, you should show him around town. Whatever happens, at least he'll have a friend in a new place." Aunt Ellen's voice is motherly, reasonable, and her eyes shine with happiness. Dean gives her a real smile.

"Yeah, I'll call him soon."

_Cue the Pleasantville background music._

* * *

.

.

.

This is what really happens while Bobby busies himself with his new customer, Balthazar Novak…

.

.

.

* * *

Dean's back crashes against the corner of the wall and where the kitchen counter ends.

"Fuck," he whispers, "fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"Dean—"

There are hot, hot, lips and tongue and teeth sucking and grazing the skin above his left pectoral and—

Dean groans because this guy's hands have just _squeezed_ and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head.

He grabs at soft dark hair and drags Castiel—and whatever's still functioning in his brain can't say that name without hearing the guy's gravelly voice—back towards his mouth. The brunette hisses when Dean bites and pulls on those cushy pink lips, and then just plunges inside, tongues tangling together.

His own hands are doing dirty, dirty things, and Castiel pulls his face back to just _growl_, heavy lidded blue eyes staring right into his own green ones. Dean quickly captures Castiel's lips again, trying to keep the noise down, while exchanging positions.

The roll causes Castiel's left shoulder to clip the phone off from its cradle, bungee-ing on its spiral cord, dial tone loud in the heady silence, and Dean's right hand scrabbles to grab it. His left hand yanks at the other boy's collar to reveal the sweet flesh of a pale shoulder, and the blonde just _mauls_ at it, loving how he's making him choke back so many sounds, causing him to start banging the back of his head against the wall.

Wild screeching is coming off from the phone, so Dean sloppily tries to set it back on the cradle. The phone slips twice, before it clings where it belongs and his right hand moves to fist the guy's gray shirt, because there's rocking, rocking, rocking.

And teeth are sinking in, and tongues are blazing trails, and lips are sucking hard, and hands are groping, and hips are friggin' _rocking._

"Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas—"

And somebody just sets the mother of all fireworks to go off right inside his head, because for the longest time there's ringing in his ears, white light in his eyes, and he can't think or move or breathe.

When he comes back to reality from wherever his brain went, he finds himself leaning fully against the kitchen counters, an armful of shivering hot guy (Castiel, his mind growls) breathing heavily against his neck. He doesn't think his actions through; just gathers the brunette and gives him a proper hug, all nice and tight. Castiel's breaths speed up against his neck, before burrowing further into it and wrapping his own arms around him.

They stay like this for only a few heartbeats, before Cas moves back to nuzzle his forehead against Dean's cheek, and then his nose briefly grazes his bottom lip before it's replaced by warms, soft tongue. Dean's mouth parts, and the tongue just slips in, curiously rubbing against his own.

The kiss is different now. There's no rush of just discovered attraction and need to release. It's so sweet and lazy and the blonde boy thinks he could do this all day, but they can't because their uncles are _right outside._

Castiel's hands move to rest on his hips, and Dean idly grabs at gray cloth.

'Just a few more seconds,' he resolves.

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**TBC**

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**Review?**


	3. Poker Face

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER III: THE ONE WHERE CASTIEL'S POKER FACE PROVES TO BE TOO MUCH FOR BALTHAZAR'S SANITY.**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Cas's unreadable personality pushes Balthazar to the brink.**

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Balthazar Novak is the last person anyone could ever imagine to guard over the safety of a minor. Actually, Gabriel Novak is the last person anyone could ever imagine, but yes, he's somewhere there on the bottom of the list.

So it was a little jarring to receive a phone call to his LA apartment from Gabriel at four in the morning, his voice panicked while drunken Parisians sang loudly off-key in the background.

"Fucking _beam_ yourself to Illinois!" he practically screamed. "Michael and his freak-wife Lucinda have gone bat-shit insane!"

And Balthazar virtually flew out of the bed and into a pair of pants. Because there was only one thing to worry about when it came to their bible-freak older brother and egg-laying, fire-breathing, she-devil sister-in-law: Castiel.

So he got his ass to Pontiac, and went to the social services office, talked to the tired lady, signed some papers and…well…

Now he's the proud guardian of his nephew. It isn't until the returning flight touched ground in California a little over fifteen hours later that he realizes what he's just done.

The older man lets out a deep breath, because _shit._ The last time he had seen his nephew he had been all of six years old, sitting out near his parents' azalea bushes, playing with the caterpillars. He remembers blue eyes gazing at him solemnly from across the yard.

"Uh, you alright?" And, wow, isn't that the dumbest thing to say? Fifteen hours too late, in the middle of a still-full plane.

Those wide eyes turn from their perusal of whatever's down the hallway, and land on him. The boy doesn't bat an eyelash, doesn't move a muscle, doesn't say anything for the longest time, until he does and it's just a deep, gravelly "yes" before turning back to the hallway.

Above their heads, the seatbelt light turns off.

* * *

Genevieve and Xica coo all over his nephew from the moment they enter the apartment.

They whisk him away and feed him, and show him to the spare bedroom, and give him all these clothes and toiletries. Balthazar literally doesn't see his Cassy until a quarter 'til midnight.

He finds the boy slumped against the bed's head rest, looking a little lost in the king bed, and as dead tired as he felt.

"It's—" Cassy's laser eyes find him instantly, "I'm—" he scratches the back of his head, "Ahh…ok, look: I know this is all fucked up, but just—" and he can literally hear words getting choked in his brain. This is bad, really bad. He's a writer with a hedonistic lifestyle; he doesn't know the first thing about child-rearing, and now he gets a teenager, and the boy just _stares._

"You have two girlfriends," the boy says, cutting through the awkward silence.

"And?" Balthazar asks quickly, defensively, because nobody gets to talk crap about his darlings.

Castiel frowns. "They were nice to me," is all he says, and that is not an answer, but then he turns off the bedside lamp, shimmies down to lay on the bed, and mutters a firm, "Goodnight."

End of conversation.

He's just been dismissed from a room in his own apartment.

* * *

It's three weeks later and Genevieve left a couple days ago for a photo shoot in Hong Kong, and now Xica is rolling her bags to the front door because she has a business meeting in Dallas.

"Please don't leave me alone! I'm not ready!" Balthazar whispers fiercely.

"Zaza baby, he's your flesh and blood. Don't be afraid of him; he's done nothing wrong," her Brazilian accent is musical, but it does nothing to soothe him at the moment.

"He just stares at me!" He is not whining.

"Castiel has been nothing but the perfect gentleman to Vivi and me. Just give him time to get comfortable with you," she smiles with her ruby-red lips, and winks a hazel eye and then she's gone too and Balthazar does not whimper.

* * *

At some point, Castiel proves his humanity by grimly informing him that he's hungry, and there's no food left in the apartment. Then he goes back to the laptop he had gifted him with in hopes of receiving at least one smile in return.

(Spectacular fail on that front, by the way.)

* * *

"Jesus Christ on a unicycle, Balthy-boo! What did you expect after years and years of constant exposure to the Psychotic Spouses?" Gabriel's voice is obnoxious, Balthazar decides.

"Yes, but—" and he's interrupted by his second eldest brother shouting some orders in Italian, "—but he doesn't talk about religion or sin or shit like that. I mean, Vivi takes him to a Catholic church on Sundays, but that's it!"

"Well, Hallelujah, right?"

"No! Because I don't know if he's happy, or sad, or angry. I don't know if he hates me, and is secretly plotting to smother me in my sleep so that he can steal my darlings!"

"Balthazar, you're being ridiculous." In the back ground he can hear someone ask, _The chickens, yes? _And Gabriel answers, "No, no, the chickens come in at midnight."

"Gabriel…"

"Look, man, I gotta go."

"But—"

"Just give it time!" And then hangs up.

It's been three months now. If he gives it anymore time, he's going to hang himself.

* * *

The tension is so thick inside his Rolls that he's practically drowning in it. It's making his hackles and every single hair on his body to rise unreasonably.

Castiel is sitting on the passenger seat, having been picked up from school not three minutes ago, and he is _fuming._

Or more like, he's about two seconds away from living up to his angelic name and unleashing his heavenly wrath upon the corrupted masses of humanity.

Balthazar is not cowering.

"Uh—"

"I do not wish to talk about it." And how can he sound like doom, without changing the inflection of his voice?

"Ok."

He prays more fervently than he has ever prayed in the last 15 years, for Cassy to return to his simple, impassive self again.

* * *

"Hmm," Genevieve sighs out as she appears behind the couch and slithers her arms down his chest. She rests her chin on his shoulder, and he can see the fiery red of her hair from the corner of his eye.

They're both watching Cassy through the glass doors of the apartment's balcony. He's sitting on the swing chair, playing with a kitten that Xica had presented him with (He had muttered a bland "Thank you," but she had smiled like he had showered her with flowers). No, playing sounds too exciting. The teenager is more like, stroking the kitten while staring at it intently.

"Maybe, a change in scenery," she offers, her airy voice so sweet by his ear.

"What do you mean?" he asks with a frown.

"Well, the apartment feels a little crowded with four people in it. Perhaps…perhaps he'll be more comfortable in a house, don't you think?"

"I don't know…"

"Mmm…something with wide, open spaces. It would be liberating, no?"

"Eh…"

"It would. Imagine it: away from the commotion of city life. A little corner of heaven to own for ourselves."

"You've already thought this through, haven't you?"

"Xica wants it to be somewhere that snows during winter."

* * *

Five months after Castiel moves in with him, Balthazar shoves a map of the country in the teenager's face.

"Choose a place," he orders.

"Um…"

"Just point to somewhere in it."

Cassy's pointer finger lands on Arizona.

"It's too dry there. Pick another place."

Wordlessly, the pale digit leaves the map, and then touches it again.

"Hmm, alright. A bit boring, but we can work with it."

"What is it?" For a moment, Balthazar swears his nephew maybe might have sounded curious, but quickly resolves it was just a trick of the light, so to speak.

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota, dear Cassy. You've just chosen where we're going to live! As soon as we find a house there, of course."

Castiel blinks up at him.

Balthazar does not despair.

* * *

They tour downtown homes, and suburbia cookie-cutter houses, and through it all Castiel stays by his uncle's side.

It's obvious the boy's not interested. And no matter how much Xica and Genevieve "ooh" and "aah" over hardwood floors or fireplaces or staircases, once they take a peek at the teenager's expression, they ask to see another home.

After the sixth site is turned down because Cassy won't stop frowning and tweeting through his smart phone instead of being curious over a potentially new home, Balthazar almost snaps. It's the double power of his girlfriends' glares that make him swallow whatever words want to come out.

He's lying in the middle of the hotel bed; Xica's sprawled like a starfish on his left, and Vivi's long hair is all over the place on his right. It's midnight and he can't sleep because he just knows Castiel is not happy with him, and his frowning all over the houses is just a way to make him suffer because all his nephew probably wanted from the beginning was to join the Russian circus and Balthazar having his custody put a damper on it all.

An idea startles him into movement, and he starts to jostle his way out of the bed, because maybe, if he were to offer to pay for flying trapeze lessons the boy would choose a house—

"Ow!" In his distress the man's elbow traps the redhead's hair, and the movement yanks at her scalp, startling the woman awake.

"What's happening?" Xica's awake immediately, and as soon as she sees Balthazar's jerky attempts at freeing himself from the tentacles that Vivi calls hair, she grabs at the back of his undershirt and pulls him back as hard as she can.

"What's wrong with you Zaza?" she spits, giving him the evil eye as Vivi sits up and tries to tame the impossible tangles.

"I—Castiel…he's—if he could just be happy…I'll pay for the lessons! Just choose a house! He…won't choose a house…"

Balthazar is not crying. There are no tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, honey. Just give it one more try, yes? Just one more house, and if he doesn't approve then we choose something by ourselves. It's a good plan. Now let's sleep."

And he allows Xica's sleep-marked arms to twist him into a comfortable position, and Genevieve's bird's nest of a hair tickles his nose as she rests her head on his chest.

* * *

It's a solitary place. The farmhouse is pretty far from civilization, but the rooms have so much space and there's so much light.

Balthazar gets distracted investigating what could potentially be his new office, and it takes a while to realize that Castiel is not there with him. Panic sets as soon as he does, because where could his nephew be when the boy hadn't ever strayed farther than three feet away from him outside of their hotel? He gets his answer when he's out in the hallway and movement catches his eye through a window.

The pale boy is out in the backyard, standing next to a peony tree in full bloom. The grey cat in his hand is trying to reach for something, but Castiel's hold keeps him safely away. His own arm is outstretched towards the same direction, and the fingers have disappeared between the leaves.

He bets there are caterpillars in there.

And he totally does not laugh hysterically in relief.

* * *

It's good to have Castiel's stare pointed at some other person that isn't him. He leaves the boy be as he follows the other teenager into the house, in order to use Mr. Singer's restroom.

His Rolls looks ridiculously out of place in the salvage yard, but when two of his tires just freakishly explode for no other reason than because he drove through a dirt road trying to find a way back to civilization, he'll take whatever help he can get. Besides, the rims suffered too.

He lets himself relax and chats easily with Bobby Singer as the older man does what he can with what he has, and promises to order original rims and install them as soon as they arrive.

* * *

There's a knock on his new front door. Xica and Vivi have gone to watch a movie at the local theater, and he's in his new office trying to type out the ending of his novel.

There's another knock, and Balthazar huffs as he gets up and makes his way over to answer it, because Castiel has never answered a door when there are other people around to do it.

It's a teenager, standing on his doorstep, muscled body shifting awkwardly as an insecure smile takes over his face.

"Hey, Mr. Novak," the boy's green eyes light up as he starts talking and Balthazar wonders who he is.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dean. Winchester. We met at Singer's Salvage Yard a few days ago, remember?"

"Did the rims arrive?" Although, why sent out the boy so late in the evening?

"Uh, no?"

"Dean," They both turn to stare at the new appearance. Castiel's voice the most airy he has ever heard it, which means he sounds like he's recovering from a bad cough instead of dying from it.

"Hey Cas," _Dean _stretches his body to look around Balthazar, and the boy's body just morphs into this vibrating, happy thing, and his face get split in half by a blinding smile, and those mossy eyes just go big and glassy.

Balthazar frowns. "What's going on?"

But he's largely ignored and practically shoved to the side as Cassy leaves the house and stands very, very close to the random teenager. They lock gazes and Dean smiles impossibly wider.

"I'll be back before midnight," his nephew announces gravely before grabbing the other boy by the wrist and moving away from the porch.

"Wait, what's going on?!" He follows them up to the porch stairs, and watches them make their way to an intimidating black muscle car, watches as they walk too close and keep bumping shoulders, and Castiel still hasn't let go of the other's wrist.

When it hits him, it feels like a two-ton boulder.

"Is this a date?! Are you going out on a date?! With a guy?!"

Dean actually opens the car door for Castiel and something is squeezing his brain while his heart goes into double time.

"You're going out on a gay date!"

Balthazar's voice accuses, hitting the highest pitch ever and he really doesn't care because his nephew is going out on date with another boy!

Castiel looks up at him before he disappears inside the car, and something amazing happens. It's there for only the briefest of seconds but it makes the world tilt on its side.

Castiel's lips curve slightly upwards.

The man stays rooted to the spot as the teenagers drive away.

When Xica and Vivi arrive two hours later, they find him sitting on the porch steps babbling almost incoherently about the magnificence of homosexuality and how his Cassy is just so beautiful.

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**TBC**

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**A/N: The "X" in Xica is pronounced as a "Sh"**

**A/N: What do you think Gabriel's profession should be?**

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**REVIEW?**


	4. Night and Day

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER IV: THE ONE WHERE CAS AND DEAN ARE NIGHT AND DAY**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Cas and Dean are different, only not really. This chapter was horrible for me to write, not because of what happens, but because inspiration died one-quarter of the way in. I barely squeezed out 975 words. My apologies, I'll do better next time.**

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From the moment Dean looked up from the motor he was trying to fix, and discovered those sapphire-blue eyes staring straight at him, he'd been a goner.

Castiel is otherworldly. The way he talks, with a voice so deep and rough, completely at odds with the slender body. His movements are downright enchanting; so graceful, like he just came out of some kind of underwater ballet. And then those eyes look at him, and his brain feels like it's melting. Or maybe it's all his blood rushing southwards.

The sixteen-year-old has never met someone so different.

Dean comes from a world of sound: His friends' laughter, Sam's nerd-spouting, Jo's shrieking, Bobby's snarking, and Ellen's humming. There are car engines rumbling, his coaches' screaming, and good ol' rock n' roll blasting from the speakers.

And then comes in Cas. It's like in those movies where they show the vastness of space and it's so great and daunting and it's all so silent that it kind of awes a person beyond words. That's Cas.

Finding him was like finding the world's biggest diamond, or locating the greatest sunken treasure ever. He wanted to keep him a secret from the world. Hide such a discovery from anybody that could steal him away.

Dean is literally inches away from changing his name to Gollum and just whispering, "My precious," into Cas's soft, perfect ear every other second he spends with him.

He takes Castiel to an open field away from the town lights. Watches the brunette take in the expanse of stars in the night sky, eyes open wide in wonder like he has never thought to look up and has just discovered the heavens. Which is just nonsense because this guy belongs here, with the moon and the galaxies and the shooting stars all floating seemingly close enough for him to touch.

The silver light of the moon washes over the boy's skin, making it glow in the near dark. Dean is so entranced by the sight that he almost misses Cas's awed, "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful," Dean counters, because the field and the cosmos looked boring until the seventeen-year-old showed up.

Castiel stops his gazing and turns to Dean; head tilted to the side, eyes wide, and skin a wonderful mixture of flushed and moon-bathed. The blonde's heart speeds up.

"Dean?" Cas's hot breath on his skin is intoxicating. He lets his calloused fingers run across the soft skin of his cheek.

"So fucking gorgeous," he whispers as his eyes find endless blue, and it feels like the world is dropping right from under his feet, at the same time that everything just makes so much sense now.

God, he should be worshipping this guy; there should be offerings of honey and flowers splayed at his feet.

Dean slants his mouth over Castiel's, wraps his arms around his body. Takes him and drinks him in at the same time that he lets himself be molded however Cas wishes.

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Castiel has no idea what possessed him that day on the salvage yard.

All he knows was that he had taken one look at those eyes, that face, that skin, and he'd been filled with the urge to take. Take, because what were the chances their paths would ever cross again?

He has never felt something so powerful, so primal for another human being until Dean. It fascinates and terrifies him at the same time.

Meeting him was like having spent his entire life under the crushing pressure of the ocean, and then he was yanked out violently, smashing through the surface and immediately finding himself in a world of color, and sound, and _life_.

He watches Dean, as they spend the day by the creek near his new home. His defined muscles of his shirtless torso shift under lovely, tanned skin as he moves to lie on his stomach. His blonde hair catches the bright sunlight, and it's like threads of spun gold.

Castiel believes he's in the midst of a vision.

His hand trembles slightly as he dares extend it towards Dean's lower back. This skin is heated, and for a wild second he believes he's being scorched alive for daring to touch this divine being.

But all Dean does is sigh as his mossy eyes flutter close, and those beautiful full lips part into a breathtaking smile.

"What're you thinking about?" Dean murmurs, and Castiel slides his hand all the way up to the blonde hair, making him hum appreciatively.

"You're perfect." It slips right from between his lips, and he wonders if he should be embarrassed, but he busies himself by dipping his hand into the creek and pouring the cold water over the broad back. He watches how Dean jerks and laughs, the water making glistening trails as it rolls down.

"I'm not," the green-eyed boy says after turning over and sitting up. He's flushing under the dusting of freckles.

Castiel rises up on his elbows, takes Dean in from the new angle, and decides he looks even more like a vision. Like the rays of the sun have brought him down from the heavens. Would the gods be pleased with him if he gave this boy tokens of his adoration? Golden apples and frankincense, perhaps?

"You are," he says, breathless all of a sudden. He has no fruit or incense on hand. Instead, he closes the small distance between them, and places chaste kisses all over his chest. Dean makes a pleased sound. Castiel's trail of kisses move up his neck, under his jaw, over his cheek bones, then land repeatedly against soft lips.

A moan gets dragged out, and roughened hands grab a hold of his waist, pulls him closer.

Castiel shivers as lips part under him and he allows himself to dip in and taste the sweetness of Dean's mouth.

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**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	5. Heart to Heart

**DISLAIMER: Not mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER V: THE ONE WHERE BALTHAZAR AND CASTIEL HAVE A HEART TO HEART**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: A little look into Cas's family dynamics, embarrassment and traumatizing sights and all. Because that's what family's for. **

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Castiel sets Grace, his gray cat, on the floor after closing the front door behind him. He leans against it and takes in the house, his new home.

The vaulted ceilings are high above him, and the wide glass windows filter in the greenish forest light. It's a spacious house; it's impossible to feel confined in here.

He chose this town, and for some reason he can't shake the idea that the house was bought with him in mind. It's strange, being included in such important decisions, even if they don't outright tell him that he is.

There's rather unfortunate singing coming from the living room and Castiel finds himself smiling. Genevieve seems to be in a good mood.

Back in Pontiac, he was taught to "sit down and be quiet, do as we say, it's the best for you." He had one little thought for himself, participated in one little act of disobedience to the rules, and his life turned upside down. Eight hours later, his Uncle Balthazar arrived like some kind of awkward, reluctant savior.

Castiel doesn't hate Balthazar, but he doesn't understand his lifestyle either. It's not a bad thing; the pale boy relishes in the fact that he's _not judging._

He finds the Rolls Royce too ostentatious for his liking, doesn't understand the necessity of such a machine. It's amusing though, how his uncle used it as a moving van without a second thought.

His mind still can't wrap itself around Genevieve and Xica. They're good women. When he first arrived in the LA apartment, they had taken him in, embraced him, and whispered lovingly how everything was going to be alright.

"_You owe us no explanations," Xica had said while rolling down the sheets of the guest bed._

"_We accept you. And we love you, because we love Zaza," Genevieve had continued, while pressing a mug of warm chocolate in his hand. His eyes had prickled with tears._

It's the whole polyamorous dynamic that he doesn't understand. Why two women? Why share one man? How can they do this so peacefully? It's almost boring, watching them interact. They behave like a couple (or, well, _trio_) who have been married for years now. For some reason the teenager had expected to return to the apartment one day, and find them all doing unspeakable things in the middle of the kitchen floor. It's embarrassing, how in his ignorance he confused pornography with reality.

Dinners are the most bewildering affairs to him. All three adults always crave something different to eat, so they end up buying an excess of three different kinds of cuisine. The food gets all spread out on the table like some kind of bacchanal buffet, and they serve themselves on small plates before going back to working, or watching TV, or whatever it was they had been doing. Dinnertime lasts _hours._

Whatever gets left over—because there are _always _leftovers—gets carefully stored in the refrigerator. In the morning, everything gets reheated and Xica spends handing the food out to the homeless people she meets on the way. On weekends, it's Uncle Balthazar, doing the hand outs.

This is done _every day. _

His fingers trail the wall as he climbs up the stairs. Grace is already at the top, watching his trek impassively.

Such a lifestyle is too wild, but at the same time humbling. There are families out there who won't give up a can of food for another human being; Genevieve anonymously donates $5000 to the Children of Africa each month.

And they act like this is normal behavior: Hedonist Humanitarians.

Castiel huffs in amusement, turning down the long hallway to reach his room.

All in all, he can't really complain. And he doesn't. Partly because these are good people, no matter how quirky, and partly because he is the guest in the house, no matter how much they accommodate him.

Although, if there was one thing he would ask his Uncle Balthazar to change, it would be—

"Cassy!" the older man's accented voice (he's been told the man spent nearly a decade living in England) calls out to him as he crosses the open office door.

Castiel stop and turns to look at his uncle. Grace scurries and hides away.

—If there was one thing he would _beg _for his uncle to change, it would be his penchant for nudism.

Balthazar is sitting at the desk, in front of his computer, probably typing out the beginnings of a new novel. The window behind him illuminates the miles and miles of bare skin and the teenager forces himself not to shudder in (understandable) disgust. He keeps his gaze locked to the man's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Come in, pet. I want to talk to you," and the man stands up to usher the teenager inside, guides him by the shoulders to one of the chairs facing the desk, and forces him down. Now there are things at his eye level that just shouldn't be at his eye level. "I've barely seen you these past few weeks! Things going good with the sculpted mechanic, eh?"

Castiel tries his hardest to not see the jiggling movements his uncle's body makes as he moves to his side of the desk and settles on his chair. He must remember to never, under any circumstance, sit on that chair.

"He's interesting," the pale boy comments. Actually, Dean is amazing. He's funny, surprisingly romantic, and refreshingly straightforward. He says none of this, because he hopes that the less he says the less time he has to spend in the office.

It's mind boggling how Balthazar has no shame over his body. The first time he came across his exposed uncle in California, he had thought it had been a one off, an accident. Oh, how wrong he was. Worse part is, the man strips down at the most random times. There's no scheduling to this behavior. Castiel is eternally grateful that when Dean picked him up that first date, the man had been wearing pants.

"Look, I know it's pretty obvious by now, but I just wanted to officially say that I support you in your choices."

At this, Balthazar rests on ankle on his left knee, arms stretching out for hands to rest on his now raised knee. The teenager is just glad there was furniture blocking his view.

"Thank you," he manages.

"And I also know that I let you be most of the time…"

This was true. At no point has his uncle ever demanded something from him. Even with household chores, the teenager has had to ask if he could help with anything.

"…but you are my nephew and I care and, believe it or not, worry for you." Balthazar takes a deep breath, and it feels like Castiel has been unknowingly forced towards a cliff, and any moment now he is going to get pushed off.

"With that in mind: have you been using a condom?"

And there's the falling-off-the-cliff sensation.

His mind immediately goes back to the first time they met. Dean was covered in sweat and motor oil, and Castiel had road dust encrusted into the creases of his skin. They had slicked every inch they could reach with saliva, not to mention everything else they did to each other. He shakes his head, and tries to think about something else. Such a precious memory will not be ruined by the horror of Uncle Balthazar asking about his sex life while striking a disturbing, stripped pose.

"Um," he answers, because the hamster in his brain just about died.

"You see," and oh, God, he was standing up again. Very casually, the older man leans against his desk, right by Castiel's side. There's the eye level display again. "I know you've had the birds and the bees talk, if not with your—" he chokes, and the teenager momentarily forgets the nakedness because he _knows_ what's about to come out of the man's mouth, "—your parents."

It's the first time he's ever mentioned them in his presence, and the teenager finds himself fighting the inexplicable need to lower his gaze to the floor.

Balthazar clears his throat, "If not with them, then at school. And I bet you were taught all about how a man loves a woman and blah, blah, blah. Right? Anyways, that's not right. Because lust—not to be confused with love, although yes, it applies as well—comes in all different shapes and sizes. Just look at you! Found yourself a hunky boy to tangle with, didn't you?"

He doesn't want to be here.

"It's just. Girls are different from guys. I mean, you know yourself, yes, but guys like Dean? I bet he's used to attention, right? And well, we're wired different, us men. We focus more on the physical than the emotions—"

As the words keep pouring out into the air, he considers being rude and firmly stating that he doesn't want to talk about this, not now, not three feet away from such a traumatizing sight. But it's obvious Balthazar's trying to be understanding, and caring, and it's all so dreadfully awkward that it kind of melts Castiel's heart.

"—and male bodies aren't realistically made for the intrusion of a penis, so it takes patience—"

Forget this.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Uncle Balthazar's monologue gets abruptly cut off, like he's just lifted the needle off a record. The older man visibly deflates, and there's this dejected look overtaking his face. Guilt spreads in the teenager's stomach and the heaviest of sighs escape him.

"I want to thank you, uncle, for taking the time to speak with me…" and it's a little hilarious watching the man startle (although he could do without the jiggling), "but Dean and I have an understanding."

Vigorous sex first, overly romantic dates second, chat for hours on the phone third.

"We don't push each other into anything that would make us uncomfortable, _in any situation_. And we try to speak openly and frankly with each other as much as possible."

"Oh. Well, that's good, that's good. Communication is a key aspect to a working relationship, you know."

Castiel nods quickly, tries to ignore that tears are forming in his uncles eyes for some strange reason.

"Yes. I understand that it's been nothing more than a month since we began our relationship, but Dean is important to me. And I like to think I'm important to him, too. We respect each other's want of privacy…"

Balthazar sighs heavily, wistfully, and the pale boy prefers not to find out what was being thought.

"…So our matters of intimacy will stay just that, private. But if I were to ever seek the need to speak with someone other than my _boyfriend_—" It makes him a little giddy inside, saying that word, "about these situations, or am seeking some sort of guidance, I will come to you."

The older man makes a weird, choked sound, before letting out a breathless, "Oh, Cassy!" He presses the heels of his hands on his eyes and rubs roughly. "I love you, my dear, I really do."

Castiel makes a little humming sound, because he can't believe he just said all of this to his uncle.

"Would it be too much if I asked for a hug?"

Yes, it would be too much. But the man is already moving, and no matter how much Castiel leans back into his chair, his uncle's hands reach him and pull him out of the seat and into the up close and personal encounter of an embrace.

He gets slapped in the back a couple times, like hugging a naked man was something to behave manly over.

"My Cassy, you are perfect just the way you are," Balthazar murmurs, and in any other situation, the teenager would have been pleased.

"Thank you, Uncle Balthazar," the panic in his voice is minimal, thank goodness, as his uncle ends the embrace and regards him from about a foot away.

"No, thank _you_, for letting me in."

"Ok…" and Castiel stares out at the lamp in the corner of the desk because he really doesn't care for pectorals that don't belong to Dean. "…I'm going to my room now."

"Yes, yes, go. Don't let me keep you."

Mechanically, the teenager leaves the room and continues his forgotten trek to his room. Once he closes the door he shudders so violently, a stranger would think he was seizing.

But no, it was just him, wishing for an industrial-sized Lysol Disinfectant Spray to bathe himself with.

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**TBC**

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**For the love of God, please review! xD**


	6. Lovely Times

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: Hi! Sorry for the delay! Budgets are evil, evil creatures that repress imagination. Budgets are not fun. Not fun. Not. Fun.**

**Aaaaaannnnddd: I made this incredibly smart move of putting my A/C on its coldest setting, and turning my ceiling fan on its highest speed, and then falling asleep without covers. I woke up feeling like there was cotton stuffed into my bones. I still feel like my sinuses are staging a civil war with each other. I literally smell old blood all the time. I've been feeling better since I started to sleep with all my cooling appliances turned off. But doing this while living in the Caribbean and experiencing this year's boiling hot hurricane season has made it literally hell. **

**But this need to share Destiel with the world keeps me going. So here it is:**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER VI: THE ONE WERE CAS AND DEAN HAVE LOVELY, LOVELY TIMES**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: They have the farmhouse entirely for themselves for a whole afternoon. And a deal is struck, sealed with a kiss and everything.**

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"You got a pretty cool house, Cas," Dean tells his boyfriend. He's just finished touring the first floor of the farmhouse. It's spacious, without feeling humongous, and everything looks so modern without looking alien.

"It is lovely. Apparently my uncle and his girlfriends are geniuses when it comes to interior decorating."

Dean makes a funny face at the mention of the girlfriend_s_. He's yet to meet them, but for some reason his mind just goes straight to the gutter, where he keeps his favorite Busty Asian Beauties scenes, hidden. The guy shakes his head, shoving away thoughts of random women in favor of concentrating on Cas.

"What time did you say everyone would be gone for?" the teenager asks, turning around to face the other boy, mouth quirking into a very mischievous grin.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, and then his eyes rake the length of his body slowly. It's only after that he meets Dean's eyes. The brunette's voice goes deeper, just like it does whenever they're alone, and the space between them gets deliciously charged. "Genevieve will return from Panama in two days. Xica and Balthazar are gone 'til eight."

It is only noon.

The sixteen-year-old closes the small distance between them, and it's a little funny, what he experiences. He's aware of the emptiness of the house, of how far from other people they are. But he can feel Castiel's skin radiating heat. Can perfectly hear every hitching breath that he takes. It's a heady thing, breathing in every lovely exhale. They're completely alone, but they're not. There's so much space, but they're crowding each other. Dean's heart speeds up.

"Well, that's good," he murmurs, one hand rising to rest lightly on the pale boy's clavicles. His eyes flit between lips and blue eyes. "More time for us."

Castiel's face moves impossibly closer, and their noses and lips brush ever so lightly. The pleasant heat that has been curling in his belly is quickly unfurling into an intense flame. "I've yet to show you the second floor."

The murmuring sends a jolt down the blonde's spine, and he unconsciously takes one last step forward. The movement seals them together, from the knees, all the way to their chests. Cas's palms are on the sides of Dean's neck, long fingers digging into the short hairs of his head. Dean's hands are clutching the sharp juts of Cas's hipbones, the shirt in the way getting absolutely wrinkled. Their eyes fall closed as their lips press together, and it seems an eternity before their faces separate a bare centimeter.

"Let's start with your room," Dean answers, eyes fluttering open, and locking with another pair of lust-blown pupils.

The seventeen-year-old's answer is to pull the green-eyed boy back into a kiss, this time of the bruising kind, until they both groan.

They separate only for Castiel to lead the way towards the upstairs, but that barely lasts as he lets Dean corral him against the banister. Lets Dean press him against the piece of wall at the top of the stairs, by the door of the first room on the right ("Is this your room?" "No."), next to the window overlooking the backyard ("We there yet?" "Not yet."), against the doorframe to Balthazar's office ("Is this it?" "Dear God in Heaven, no."), and finally, against the closed door of his bedroom.

The shorter boy turns around to turn the doorknob, and Dean takes the opportunity to grab at hips again and press against him. Castiel tries to unsuccessfully swallow a moan as he presses back. The dark head falls forward to rest on the doorframe, and the blonde digs his nose into the soft hair, lips sucking on the skin of the back of the neck.

"Open the door, Cas," his voice roughens as blood rushes in his ears in its hurry to vacate his head.

Castiel fumbles with the doorknob a few times before he manages to turn the thing, and the door opens wide. They stumble in, Dean spinning Cas back around to kiss him heavily once again. Castiel turns them around, and pushes at him, guides him deeper into the room.

Dean's eyes are wide open, but he can't take in any of his surroundings except for his boyfriend. His boyfriend that has a determined glint in his eye. The back of his legs bump into something and he topples back into the bouncing surface of a bed. He processes dark brown sheets at the corner of his eye, before Castiel begins to crawl over him.

There are hot hands pressing everywhere, and a soft, wet tongue starts to lap right under his adam's apple.

"Cas," he hisses.

"Hm?" The noise vibrates through him, making him shiver.

When Cas starts with his ear, he growls and switches their positions. He starts tugging at the brunette's shirt, so they separate in order to begin freeing themselves of clothes. They get down to their underwear before they find each other again. Cas is on top of him as the heavy rocking begins, and Dean's mind feels like a hot air balloon, blissfully rising away into the stratosphere.

"Cas," the name drips from his lips before he realizes what he wants.

"Mm." The distracted answer comes from the back of the throat, as he starts in on the ear again.

"Cas?" There's an idea forming in his head, a _need_ that his entire body wants to fulfill. He removes his hands from their grip on his boyfriend's thighs, and snakes his arms under the other's arms, in order to clutch at the back of shoulders. The slight pressure he exerts makes Castiel stop, and he faces Dean with a confused, questioning gaze.

"What is it?" Castiel's voice is wrecked, and it does things to Dean.

"Cas, do you want to—" the blonde boy finds himself flustering, feels awkward at saying what he wants, mostly because he only knows how to say the crude versions. 'Penetration' sounds gayer than Liberace. "I mean, it's been over a month now, and we've done everything but, and—if you want—"

"Oh," and there's a little pause that is way too awkward for the situation. "Sure," he says, eyes landing on Dean's abs.

"Sure?" he asks, a little confused. The blonde sits up straighter, but clutches Cas's hips to keep him in place. "I—this is—that's all you have to say? Sure?"

"Dean," his name sounds a little like a plea. The brunette's eyes dart everywhere, just like his fingertips are brushing every surface of his chest. It sets goose bumps on his skin.

"What is it?"

There's the sound of clearing his throat. "I've never…" he shrugs, and Dean's eyebrows rise.

"Seriously? You've…never?" When he sees Castiel shakes his head, the blonde's mind feels like it's been blown. "But you _have_ done everything else we've done, before, with someone else?" He doesn't know whether to be hopeful or…he doesn't really know.

The pale boy looks up at this, his blue eyes scorching his own green ones in their intensity. "I haven't."

Dean's mind reels.

"But you've been so confident about it all!"

"I've done what feels good. Everything I do with you feels good. I've been slowly learning—"

"Slowly?!" and Dean's not really hysterical, but his voice rises a little even as he rests his forehead on his boyfriend's bare chest. "You attacked me in the scrap yard. It was our first time and it was you who made the first move!"

Castiel's hands stroke his hair. "I saw you, and I _needed_ you," he states, "I wanted you like I never wanted anybody and it was insane, but there was no way I would deny myself. Not when you were looking at me the same way I felt I was looking at you."

And it was true. Seeing Castiel for the first time was like finally finding an oasis in the middle of a desert. And the waters have been so sweet that he can't find a way to stop himself from taking more and more.

"I still want you, just as much as that day." The words are feather soft, against his temple, and the green-eyed teenager finds himself crushing his partner into a hug. Castiel returns it as best as he can.

"Fuck, Cas." His words are a little broken, and he laughs at the absurdity of it all.

"I really want to, with you, Dean."

Dean leans back, breaks their embrace to smile widely at Cas. He finds the pale boy with the loveliest blush he's ever seen. It starts low on his chest, spreads to the tips of his shoulders, up the neck, and deep into his stubbly cheeks. He can't help himself; he goes back in for a deep kiss. Their tongues and teeth work with each other, even as they begin to remove their last clothing.

Castiel gets rolled onto his back, but he instantly sits back up as Dean settles himself on his lap. The contact makes them pause and mewl at the sensations.

"Dean?" And wow, he's never heard his boyfriend's voice like this.

Hands clutch at his hips and he grabs the left one, moves it so that it trails to the bottom of his back. Castiel takes the hint and begins to move lower, his long fingers kneading at the flesh of his ass.

Dean takes Cas back in for another kiss. It's something filthy, this time. Like a languid version of their first kiss. He begins the heavy rocking from before.

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Castiel never expected his first time with Dean to be like this. Actually, he expected to be the one receiving, not giving.

But what had really surprised him had been the pace of it all.

From the start it has been a frantic, obsessive affair. Today, they took the time they have never taken with each other. They explored and learned each other in ways he never thought possible.

There's warmth in his chest. It feels like a brand new beginning, instead of a final ending.

He looks to his right, at the dozing figure of his boyfriend lying on his stomach, pressed impossibly close, and he can't stop himself. He shifts to his side and traces his fingertips across the broad expanse of the tanned back. Goose bumps rise almost instantly and Castiel is transfixed.

Dean breathes in deeply, and he looks up to find satisfied, mossy eyes blinking at him from over muscled, crossed arms.

"Hey," the blonde teenager whispers.

"Hi," he whispers back. And it's ridiculous, whispering when there is no one else for miles, but it feels exciting. Like they're living in a little world where they're the only inhabitants.

Dean groans and stretches, everything from the lower back to the back of his thighs glistening with drying lube. Castiel finds his pulse speeding up a bit.

"So," he begins, once he's on his side, mirroring the brunette's position. His roughened fingers play with his nipples, before trailing down and circling his navel. Castiel bites his lips. "How was it?"

A blush takes over and he looks down at his boyfriend's wash-board abs. He lets loose a wide smile. Dean laughs so loudly, the bed shakes.

It's a wonderful moment, happy and relaxed in the afterglow. But Dean's question has niggled at his curiosity.

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"When was _your_ first time? At anything sexual, that is?" The question is asked softly, because he doesn't know whether the blonde boy will feel uncomfortable or not. There's an intake of breath, but he relaxes when a rough hand find his own and their fingers interlace.

"I uh, I was twelve," he begins bashfully, and gives out a small huff of laughter. "I was at this party and this girl and I, we hid ourselves in my friend's room. Started making out and then we just, I don't know, fell sideways or something. Anyways, we dry humped and then I got this stain in my jeans and it was embarrassing so I stole a pair of my friend's jeans and threw mine into the trash."

"Twelve is so young," Castiel comments, trying to picture Dean at that age.

The blonde shrugs, unapologetic. "I've always been curious about sex, you know. Knew there was diseases and pregnancy and responsibility for my actions. So I researched a bit, and then, I don't know, looked to put the theory into practice as soon as I could."

"My parents," the brunette begins and trails off. He takes a deep breath, "my parents made sex taboo. It always annoyed me. Sex is a basic human need, and they demonized it. I've never understood why. But it certainly made things a little more complicated for me."

There are no words exchanged for a long time after these confessions. He lets his fingers play with his boyfriend's, the comfortable silence that settles between them pleasant. When he looks up at his face again, though, he finds a green gaze staring fixatedly at him.

"What are you thinking about?" He continues his whispering, the fingers of his other hand rising to brush against his boyfriend's full lips.

Something lightens in the blonde's eyes, and then he gives out a huff of laughter. An entire hand traces the length of his arm.

"I'm thinking about just how pale you are," he answers teasingly. Castiel frowns lightly.

"I burn easily, so I obviously try to stay in the shade as much as I can," he defends. Said pale boy takes in the expanse of tanned skin next to him, eager to counter the accusation. "You have muscles on your ribs. There are muscles on the muscles on your ribs."

"I do not! There aren't!" Dean is quick to defend himself. "Besides, what do you expect from me? I'm quarterback for the football team, the pitcher for the baseball team, and I'm a wrestler. Gotta stay fit."

Castiel makes a humoring sound at the back of his throat. It causes Dean to stir and crawl over him, probably to try and exert some kind of dominance. He just finds it pleasant.

"You could get some muscle definition yourself," he proposes, hands rubbing at the pale stomach and around the chest.

The seventeen-year-old's hips start to twitch, but it's a slight protesting sound that comes out of his mouth. Exercises just for the fun of it have never really been any fun for him.

"Come on, we'll have a legitimate excuse to spend time with each other," his tries to convince. It's a good argument, one that sounds even more convincing as his boyfriend's hips respond to his movements. But he's still not sold.

"How much time?" he asks breathlessly.

"Twice a week. Just a couple hours." Dean tries to make it sound like it's nothing, then leans down until those lips are brushing the shell of his ear. "I'll make it worth your while," he whispers.

And the ideas those words stir inside his brain shouldn't be reminding him of something else. He flushes at a sudden image of him and Dean mixed with his new thoughts.

"There's something else I do twice a week," he begins, voice low and rough. His eyes dart everywhere as his heartbeat speeds up. There's a plan forming in his head, and it's not really the time to be talking about it, but now he can't shake the thoughts. "Maybe we can do a fair exchange?"

"Something else? Exchange?" The questions come as Dean slows down a bit.

"I can spend a couple hours with you, and you can spend a couple hours with me," he proposes with a slight flush.

"But what do you do?"

"I always go alone, except when Genevieve's in town. She always accompanies me, but I think she just does it because she doesn't like me being alone. I actually would prefer company, but I don't want to force anyone—"

"But Cas, what do you _do_?" Deans stops moving completely, his blonde brow furrowing in curiosity.

"It's inappropriate," he spits out before his brain catches up, and he flushes. Dean's eyebrows raise impossibly fast. "For this moment!" he amends quickly, "We should talk about this later, I mean."

"No, now I'm too damn curious. Tell me, Cas, I wanna know."

Castiel flusters, and lets a breath rush out of his lungs. "I attend church twice a week. I just thought if I spent time doing something you like, you could accompany me to do something that I like."

There's silence afterwards. Dean's weight on him is slowly becoming uncomfortable, but he refuses to move.

"Huh," is his boyfriend's first word after a while. "You're a churchy?"

"Churchy?"

Dean shrugs, "You know, a church-goer. Twice a week and everything."

Cas doesn't expect this response, like he was honestly curious.

"Aren't churches like, against same sex relationships and stuff like that?" Dean asks, head tilted to the side and it's delightful, seeing his own mannerisms unconsciously copied by his boyfriend.

"I don't really care. I go to church to talk with God, not the people. To praise Him and thank Him for all that He's blessed me with." Castiel locks gazes with him, trying to silently tell him that he finds Dean a blessing. The message must get through, because the freckled face flushes.

"Oh," the taller boy mumbles, his eyes lowering in thought, as fingers begin to trace his stomach again.

"I spend no longer than an hour and a half each time I go," he adds, giving his boyfriend a time frame.

"You're right, this _is _inappropriate for the moment." There are soft bursts of laughter from both of them, and then Dean shrugs again. "It sounds like fair trade."

Castiel sits up hurriedly, nose brushing against the soft cleft of Dean's chin. "You'll go?" he asks, a little excitedly.

"Only if you work out with me."

"Deal."

Dean grins, and places a long deep kiss on his lips.

They don't talk much after that.

* * *

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**OK. For anyone who's got timeline problems: Dean told his family he was bi when he was 15. Cas came to live with Balthazar in January in his 10****th**** grade. At the moment, Dean's 16 and Cas 17. They're both in the same grades (Cas's birthday is late in the year). It's summer (late July-ish).**

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TBC**

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**Please review!**


	7. What is love?

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER VII: THE ONE WHERE CASTIEL NEEDS SOME GUIDANCE IN THE MATTERS OF LOVE**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Short and quick. This was supposed to be a scene from next chapter, but I found it didn't go with the flow of the story. But I really wanted to have this scene, so here you go! Extra chapter, YAY! Castiel and Xica have a little talk. Or are about to have a little talk. Something. Whatever. Just read.**

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Castiel adjusts the bright purple cooler tote bag hanging from his right shoulder.

Xica is squatting in front of a homeless man, the hem of her white lace dress skimming the ground. Her dark hair obscures her face as she hands over a portion of warmed leftovers with a utensils packet.

"Pan sautéed chicken and lemon rice," she announces, her accent making the meal sound absolutely exotic.

The homeless man holds the aluminum-wrapped food close to his chest without really looking at it. His bearded chin wobbles a bit, before a rough, "Thank you," is uttered. Xica merely smiles, and stands back up.

Her golden flat sandals catch the sunlight as she turns and keeps walking down the street. Castiel hurries to catch up.

The teenager had promised to go to his uncle whenever he needed guidance with his relationship with Dean, and he had intended to keep that promise. But last night, he had searched for him.

And found him dancing a naked _merengue_ with a laughing Vivi (_she_ had been clothed).

He had hidden himself in his room for the remainder of the day. And then woken up too early the next morning because his stomach protested having missed dinner.

It's how he found Xica in the kitchen, humming lazily as she prepared the tote bag with the leftovers. She seemed safe enough to talk with. So he asked if he could go with her and help. She gave him a crimson smile and said, "Sure thing, bebê."

It's been nearly two hours, now. For some reason it takes long for him to gather his courage and speak. It's all there, in his mind. But he seldom needs to put into words what he's feeling with Dean; his boyfriend seems to get it, with just a glance. So it's a little weird, taking it out into the open, these matters.

"Xica?" he manages, finally feeling ready to talk. They've gone down a wide alley, were there's a woman pacing slightly agitatedly.

"Hm?" she hums distractedly as she pulls the final meal and a utensils packet out of the bag. It's a foam bowl with something foiled on top, all saran-wrapped together.

Before he can begin to speak, his uncle's girlfriend is already moving away from him and closer to the once-pacing woman. Now she's frozen in place, like she doesn't know whether to choose between fight and flight.

"It's grilled mahi-mahi fish and plantain soup," is all Xica says, offering the food as unthreateningly as possible. The woman moves slowly towards her and makes a quick grab of the meal. She clutches it for a while, eyes darting everywhere but to their own eyes. She nods uncertainly before moving further down the alley.

"Xica," he begins again, as the darker-skinned woman relieves him of the empty tote bag, and loops one hand into the crook of his elbow as he automatically bends his arm.

"Let's get out of this alley first, yes?"

Castiel sighs, but does as told, escorting the woman back into the more populated street. He catches sight of an empty bench next to a tree, and he maneuvers them towards it.

"Alright," she says with a content sigh once she settles on her seat, "Now, tell me what is it."

He heaves a sigh of his own, this one to release nervousness. He looks down at his fingers, toying with them.

"I've told Uncle that Dean is important to me, but he isn't just that."

Xica makes a soft "Oh," but otherwise stays silent.

"I feel…more, for him, than I've ever felt for anybody else."

Thin fingers curl around one of his wrists, the delicate thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"What kind of things, do you feel, Castiel?"

The teenager looks up, finds a soft smile on her face.

"It's more than just lust. I know lust. It's greater than that. More complicated." Fingers tighten their hold on his wrist, and from the corner of his eye he sees the woman shifting in her seat, leaning closer to him.

"How complicated, Castiel?" her words are a little urging, now. He doesn't blame her; he's not giving up information easily.

He clears his throat when he feels the hot flash of a blush creeping into his face.

"Dean takes my breath away, whenever I see him," he begins, voice a whisper. He clears his throat again, and continues in a slightly louder tone, "Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it feels like I'm flying. Whenever I'm away from him the passing of time feels a bit like mental torture. And when he walks into a room, everything else turns dull and unimportant. It's confusing, but it's not, which makes it even more confusing."

The blue-eyed boy feels slightly exhausted; he's spoken more words in that one minute than he sometimes does for an entire morning.

"Oh, Castiel, bebê," his aunt—for lack of a better title that doesn't have more than two syllables—exclaims, the tone of her voice strange in its breathiness. It makes him look up, and he finds that Xica is halfway to pressing the palm of her hand on his cheek.

He expects to smell food or unwashed skin from that hand, but instead he gets a waft of orchids.

Her hazel eyes are glassy and her eyebrows are arched in an inexplicable way.

"Xica?" he says her name again, wanting her to tell him more than just a couple of unimportant words.

"Come," she quickly says, springing up again into a standing position, trying to haul Castiel up by his wrist. He's a whole foot taller than her. It makes him quirk his lips into a small smile.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to the ice cream shop. We need sweetness if we're going to talk about something as marvelous as this. Besides, it's unbearably hot today. Don't you think?"

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**A/N: Plantain soup: food of the gods! Go out and find it somewhere (probably a latin restaurant), or make it at home with this youtube video: **watch?v=zazjfthjkxY

**And if you wanna see what I imagined was Balthzar and Genevieve dancing go to youtube with this link: ** watch?v=QHbSa3iFc7g&feature=related **They're so sloppy it's adorable! And her hair flies all over the place, just like I imagine Vivi's does.**

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**TBC**

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**REVIEW!**


	8. Coming Together

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: I think the story's all in present tense. If you find something that obviously isn't meant to be in past or future tense, please let me know.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER VIII: THE ONE WHERE THEY ALL MEET**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Just like the title says, the Singers and the Novaks meet. Yeah, like it's that simple X). **

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The restaurant is beautiful in its simplicity. The soft yellow glow of the lighting evokes a unique sense of intimacy. The echoes of laughter and murmuring of other customers can be heard in the background as a kyoku plays a haunting song. The room that had been scheduled is private, closed off by paper sliding doors depicting cherry trees in full bloom.

A dark, rectangular, low table is situated perfectly in the middle. Around it, five people sit. Bobby Singer is clean shaven, hatless, and wearing a button-down shirt that for once doesn't have a plaid pattern. Next to him is Ellen Harvelle. She wears a pretty black number, the mauve of her lips matching her heels.

Across from them, sits Balthazar. He is wearing a dark grey v-neck and black trousers. Genevieve is on his left, looking like something out of a magazine with a green jumpsuit and flaming red hair. Xica is on his right, donning a royal blue summer dress, and her ever-present ruby red lips.

They are all adults in the room, and there are plenty of conversational topics to choose from. Except that, at the moment, none comes to mind.

It was safe to say that an awkward silence had settled over them right after they had exchanged greetings and settled down on their pillowed seats.

Instead, Bobby taps his pointer finger against the table in a quick rhythm, Vivi stares at the patterns on the wooden floors, Xica hums, Balthazar heaves a rushing sigh, and Ellen clears her throat.

The last sound causes everyone to look up at the woman, and she clears her throat again.

Let both families officially meet each other at the same time, they said.

It'll be fun, they said.

"Where are those kids?" she asks, desperate to get through the night.

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Dean is incapable of holding back a keening sound that quickly turns into muffled, incoherent swearing.

Castiel hums in agreement, and that makes the blonde go cross-eyed.

His fingers dig deep into his boyfriend's dark hair, and he holds on for dear life.

He and Cas are in the Impala at the movie theater parking lot, "waiting" to pick up his cousin and her friend. Through the heavy fog in his brain, he can hear his phone go off, Joan Jett growling "_I love rock and roll!_" to some kickass guitar strings. That's Jo, probably finally out of the movie.

The pale boy does a swirling thing with his tongue and Dean sees stars.

Let her wait a couple more minutes, he decides. The girls made them wait first, after all. Which caused them to find a way to pass the time. Which led them to this interesting situation. Totally Jo's fault that Cas is doing despicable things with his mouth in a semi-public place.

The ringtone starts up again, but this time, Dean is even less aware of it. He's too busy chanting, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,_ yes_!" under his breath to really care.

The music cuts off right a few seconds before Cas sits back up. He licks those lips, a wrecked red color now, and Dean thinks it's time to repay the favor.

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One of the sliding doors open, and everyone looks up eagerly, expecting to see their children. Instead, it's their server for the evening.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Ah, no," says Vivi. "We're expecting some more people to join us."

"How 'bout a warm bottle of sake, hai?" Bobby adds quickly, before the server can shuffle off. They need alcohol, like fast.

"Hai, Singer-sama," the server says with a small bow, and closes the door to leave.

"You know Japanese?" Balthazar asks, curious.

"Watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu," answers the older man, scratching idly at his non-existent beard.

"Huh."

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"What the hell, Dean? I called you like twenty times!" Jo snarls as she clambers into the back of the Impala. Castiel says a quick hello while she grumbles under her breath. Next to her climbs in a petite blonde called Becky. "Hey Cas," she greets sweetly.

"It's your own fault! That movie lasted forever!" He spits over his shoulder at the same time that Becky greets him with an enthusiastic 'Hi Dean!' He pulls out of the movie theater, wheels screeching. "Hey Becks," he acknowledges with a smile.

"We thought it wouldn't take so long," Jo defends herself. "Becky this is Castiel. Cas, this is Becky."

"Hello," the pale boy says, turning enough to offer a small smile.

"You're pretty," answers the girl.

"Wait," interrupts the taller girl before Castiel can answer back. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the scene before her. Reddened lips, slightly flushed faces. "Were you guys making out?" She phrases it like a question, but in reality it's nothing but accusation.

Dean chokes because, _bless her_.

"It's my car, Jo. I do whatever the hell I want in it," he protests even as both he and his boyfriend flush an even deeper color.

"Making out? You two?" Becky whispers, voice trembling.

Her sudden screeching almost causes Dean to drive into a ditch.

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"Are you ready to order now?" It's the server again.

Everyone looks at each other, expecting someone to speak up. No one does.

"More sake?" prompts the server.

"Great idea," says Xica, followed by quick murmurs of agreement from everyone else.

"Maybe some dumplings, too?" Balthazar suggests.

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"Please, please, please!" Becky is leaning heavily against the car, her head jammed through the open passenger-side window.

If Cas tries to lean any further away, he's going to phase through the leather seat.

"No pictures!"

Dean tries to swat away the phone that is slowly looming closer to him, its camera lens glinting ominously.

"Becky, please, we need to go," Jo tries to be as convincing as possible from the backseat.

"But, but, Jo!" she whines, even as she removes herself from the car and starts angling her body towards her house.

"We'll talk later, I promise," as soon as the small blonde is three feet away from his Baby, Dean revs up the engine to get the hell out dodge. Before he gets too far down the street, Jo sticks her head out of the window and bellows, "I'll text you some pictures!"

"Jo!"

"What?"

* * *

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"So," Ellen begins, elongating the word unnecessarily. "How did you tw-guys meet?"

Bobby looks at her from the corner of his eyes. She quirks an eyebrow. Xica chokes on her drink.

"Ah, well…we were in France, all for different reasons," answers Balthazar slowly. "And we were all invited to this small gathering, no more than twelve people…"

Vivi downs her entire cup and then fills it up again.

"…and it took a while…," at this the man quirks his brow into a strange frown, "but we found each other…and we…we—"

"We never really left each other," finishes Xica with a quick smile.

"Hm," is all Bobby says.

"And how did you two meet?" Vivi quickly pipes up.

Bobby starts tugging on his ear while looking at the table. Ellen opens her mouth, then closes it again, then opens it again.

Their server returns and slides the door open, "Is there anyth—"

"More sake," Ellen orders suddenly, "and sushi rolls. Bring sushi rolls. Tuna. Salmon. Beef. Bring 'em all."

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"_Near, far, wherever you are! I believe that the heart does go on. Once more you open the door and you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on!"_

Sam's ringtone fills up the car, mixing oddly with the AC/DC playing on the radio. Dean struggles to grab it, and finds it wedged between the seat and the backrest.

"Samantha," he answers.

"Dean," his little brother whines in annoyance, but continues talking. "Where are you? Everyone's waiting for us at the restaurant!"

"Chill out, twerp! Nearly died on the way to drop off Freaky Becky!"

"We did not nearly die! And she is not Freaky!" Jo pretty much squeals out, before slapping the back of his head.

"Ow!"

Cas _laughs _at him, the traitor_._

"Oh god, did she screech again?"

"Yeah, she screeched." Jo huffs indignantly. "Just hold on to your panties for a couple more minutes, we'll get there."

"Whatever."

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"In Brazil, I never really tried anything different," comments Xica as she clasps a sushi roll between her chopsticks.

"Haven't been to Brazil in nearly ten years," rumbles Bobby.

"Oh? Did you enjoy it?"

With a shrug, he answers, "Can't say, was too busy working."

"What did you do over there?" asks Balthazar.

Ellen swallows a large gulp of her drink.

"Government project."

"Really? What did you do with the government?"

"My job," he shrugs, nonchalantly, and pours himself another cup of sake.

Balthazar follows his example.

* * *

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Dean gets out of the car, and grabs his little brother's overnight bag to stow it away in the trunk. Sam had stayed over at his friend Garth's place; that noodle-like kid exchanging some kind of secret, BFF goodbye handshake with his brother.

"Squirt, hurry up."

"You're hilarious, Dean," Sammy bitches, but nevertheless finishes his goodbyes and they start walking back to the Impala.

"Dean, wait!" It's a female voice that calls out to him from the direction of Garth's home. They turn at the same time to find that the voice comes from Garth's mom. Dean loves Garth's mom, she's just as hilariously skinny as her son, but she can bake one hell of an apple pie.

"What's the hold up?" he can hear Jo grumble, and Dean turns to find the blonde with her head hanging out the window, and Cas's huge blue eyes staring curiously at the incoming figure.

"I baked pie," she announces, and everyone looks up at her like puppies that have heard a bell ring. Pavlovian instinct at its finest. All except Sam, who groans, as if he'd been hoping Dean wouldn't find out. "Please come in, there's plenty for all."

Jo and Cas are already scrambling out of Baby like their pants are on fire.

"Dean, we're already late! We can't afford to be any later!"

"Oh come on, it'll just be a minute. Just one slice."

He has three.

And some ice cream.

And cherry soda.

* * *

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"More sake?" asks the resigned server.

"More _everything."_

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"Dean, Dean stop the car!" Cas's sudden exclamation makes Dean step on the breaks immediately.

He had been sitting relaxed on the passenger seat, then all of a sudden something caught his eye outside.

"What? What is it? What did you see?" starts exclaiming Jo.

"Just—" Cas begins, but cuts himself off as he struggles with his seatbelt, then the door, and then he hurls himself out towards something at the side of the road.

"We don't have time for this!" whines Sam.

"Shut it, Sammy," Dean murmurs distractedly as he gets out of the car too and follows his boyfriend.

The brunette is removing his outer shirt, and crouching down to pick up something from the floor.

"Cas?"

Castiel stands back up, movements much slower than seconds before, and turns around to face the blonde boy. His shirt is all bundled up against his chest, but he's holding it like he's carrying something very delicate.

Big blue eyes look up at him, and Dean's suddenly struck with the realization that Sam's puppy-dog eyes have done nothing to prepare him for the power of Castiel's sad gaze.

"It's shivering, Dean," his own rough voice trembles and it's such a heartbreaking scene.

Dean gets closer, and Cas slowly moves a piece of his shirt aside to reveal a tiny, black ball of fur. It's shivering, just like his boyfriend says, and then large gray eyes unexpectedly blink open.

It's a kitten.

"Isn't there a gas station nearby? We need to clear off the grime. We can feed it table scraps at the restaurant."

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Five sake cups clink together rather roughly, the drinks sloshing dangerously. Everyone giggles.

"A toast!" says Balthazar, "In the name of Love, Compassion, Tolerance, and…and—"

"Sake!" declares Vivi.

"Cheers!" they all say.

Ellen whoops.

* * *

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"We are so, so late," mutters Sam under his breath as they all four teenagers are led towards the private rooms at the back of the restaurant. Castiel is too busy concentrating on the bundle in his arms, forcing Dean to grab a hold of his arm and serve as his guide.

"Oh please, it'll be fine."

"I wanna meet your uncle, Cas!" Jo whispers excitedly. "Dean says he's got a British accent. That's so sexy!"

"Is it?" he answers distractedly, before they stop in front of a very loud room. They all look at each other, and Jo, Dean and Sam all flinch when a high-pitched, braying laughter is belt out. They've all heard Aunt Ellen's drunken laugh before.

"Here it is," says the tired waiter, "the Singer-Novak…party." And then he slides the door open.

Castiel goes rigid, and then literally backs himself up against Dean. Dean himself grimaces, as Sam's jaw drops and Jo lets out a startled laugh.

Vivi and is doing some kind of contortionist pose as Xica babbles on, trying to explain the demonstration.

Bobby is leaning heavily against Balthazar, and Ellen looks like she's trying her best to laugh and chew on an entire squid at the same time.

"Um," Sam begins, recovering enough to catch the waiter's—who looks very, very stressed—attention. "Can we get another table?"

Vivi topples over and bumps the low table. A bottle of sake falls to the floor, the alcohol spilling all over.

"On the other side of the restaurant?"

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**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	9. Keeping Promises

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER IX: THE ONE WHERE THEY KEEP THEIR PROMISES**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Fluffy times sharing with each other, and Jo and Sam are just jealous.**

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The Singer property is easily 90 acres long. Right smack dab in the middle of the land is the old, but sturdy, two-story house. All around it, as if the house had been ground zero is an endless blast radius of rusted cars and sheds.

The vehicles are all piled on top of each other, while the sheds poke out unexpectedly around great rusted metal columns.

It's in one of these sheds, the closest to what would be considered the backyard of the house, that Dean, Castiel, and Jo hide themselves from the punishing sun.

The cousins had proudly begun preparing this particular space as a gym back in their 'tween years. There are faded, red foam mats on the floor, a duct-taped punching bag hanging in a corner, some slightly rusted weight machines here and there, and a few other exercising tools.

Castiel is currently lying on the floor, legs bent at the knee, hands behind his head. He's drenched in sweat from head to toe, the dark blue fabric of his sweats looking almost black. His hair's sticking to his forehead, and the back of his neck, and his face is pink from the exertion.

Despite the rather disgusting situation he finds himself in, he can't help but smile and pull the upper half of his body off the ground and closer towards his knees. There's a reward for him with every sit up that he succeeds in completing.

This reward is Dean: smiling wide, eyes shining, the sweat making his golden skin shine quite deliciously. The reassuring pressure on his feet increases; those rough fingers tightening in anticipation. An anticipation that causes the brunette teenager to rush to close the tiny gap between them, mouths locking for one second, then two, and then Dean lets go, and Castiel falls back to the ground, gaining his breath to repeat the act all over again.

For the couple of seconds that he lies there, he takes in the metallic ceiling, the tiny holes filtering in sunlight, bringing to sight the swirling, floating dust. Deep Purple's driving riffs are echoing from the tinny radio in some corner. For just a moment he closes his eyes, and exhales.

He's instantly transported to the small, white bedroom at his parents' house. He's lying on his twin bed with the blue sheets, wearing chinos and a long sleeved button down shirt. There's a deafening silence, and he knows it's the third prayer time of the day. He forces this memory to fade to black, and exhales.

Blue eyes open wide, and there's the classic rock, and the smell of rust, dirt, and sweat, and the heat of his boyfriend's hands. He smiles quickly, forces his body to rise, and chases once again the addictive taste of Dean's mouth.

The older teenager doesn't allow the blonde to end the kissing, though. Right as soon as he feels him pull away, the hands behind his head snap out and grab at the sides of that perfect face. Dean doesn't fight him, instead leans even closer, hands leaving their place on the sneakered feet, travelling up his exposed calves, and resting on Castiel's knees.

"You guys are so cute it's disgusting."

The boyfriends separate, eyes opening slowly—now that they realize they were closed—and searched for the female voice.

Jo is hanging by her knees from the stand-alone pull up bar installed right next to the punching bag, the tip of her blonde ponytail brushing the ground. Her body is still swaying back and forth from having finished a set of reverse sit ups. Just like them, Jo is drenched in sweat, and face flushed from her upside-down exertions. Unlike them, her pretty dark eyes are narrowed and glaring.

Castiel instinctively hunches his shoulders.

"It's work-out time, guys, not PDA-time." And with that, the girl places her hands behind her head and starts another repetition, the tip of her nose brushing her knees, before falling back halfway, then folding up once again.

The brunette can't help but gaze upon the hidden power of the petite girl; her breaths are silent and even as she works her body with determined concentration.

"Your cousin's a little scary, Dean," Castiel whispers, still looking on.

"We don't talk about it out loud," Dean whispers back. The brunette looks back at him, and receives an unexpected peck on the lips. The blonde smiles, returns his hands to holding his feet, and orders, "Down you go."

With another quick peck, Castiel readily complies.

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.

Dean drums his fingers against the space between Cas and him on the wooden bench they're sitting, ignoring Sammy's epic bitch face on his left. Castiel's left hand stops playing with his crucifix and slithers over to thread their fingers together, effectively stopping the noise.

The blonde teenager smiles despite himself, because here is Cas clutching his hand in the middle of Sunday mass. Dean takes it a step further and rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder.

The priest is talking about King David, and he's heard about that guy before. About how he killed a giant with just a stone. But what the clergy man is going on about was something about how he stole some dude's wife. Not very holy, this king.

The information is slightly interesting, here and there. But it feels more like he's listening to some gossip, so he finds his eyes and mind drifting. He takes in the arched ceiling of the small church, the statues of Jesus, Virgin Mary, and various other saints. But then he shifts his face a little, and Cas's wondrous scent wafts up his nose.

The sixteen-year-old had been a bit nervous about going to church. The last time he had stepped into a place like that had been when he was six, and John had left Sammy and him with Pastor Jim for a weekend. Before that, he had been much younger, sitting in his mother's lap, loving the feel of her breathing against his back.

His little brother had insisted on coming with them, wanting to listen to the word of God or something. All he knows was that his boyfriend had smiled with happiness in that adorable way that he does when in public, where he barely moves his lips.

So there they are, Sammy dressed in the best clothes he owns, and shoes so shiny he can almost see his reflection in them. Dean found some nice clothes hidden in his closet as well, and had tried to iron them as best he could, but the only shoes that he owns that aren't moments away from death is a pair of bike boots that Jo had given him for his birthday back in spring. So that's what he's wearing. He really needs some new shoes.

But it's Cas who takes the cake. He's wearing this navy blue suit, with a white shirt, and a tie that keeps twisting around for some reason. When he'd picked him up earlier, his hair had been brushed into some dorky style, but Dean quickly fixed that with a quick ruffle. For once, there's no stubble on those pale cheeks. His sapphire eyes are beaming more so than usual thanks to the clothes. The brunette is gorgeous, and Dean is willing to come to church twice a week if it means seeing his boyfriend dressed like this.

The blonde sighs, louder than he actually means, and Cas nudges his head slightly with his shoulder, before bringing their clasped hands to his lap.

"You guys," Sam suddenly hisses, his face appearing suddenly closer than he expected. "We're in a church. Please stop cuddling and listen to the priest."

With that, his little sister of a brother goes back to sitting straight-backed and focusing completely on the padre by the podium.

"What did he say?" Cas murmurs, because apparently his little brother's tone had been too low for him to understand.

"Something about wanting to braid his hair with the wildflowers on the side of the road when we get out here," Dean murmurs back, causing the brunette an unexpected laugh that he quickly tries to stifle, but is unsuccessful in keeping his shoulders from shaking.

"He did not, and please listen to Father Riggs, he's almost finishing anyways."

"Alright, alright."

And he settles as best he can, the wooden seat uncomfortable, but loving the feel of his hands clasped tight by his Cas's softer ones.

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**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	10. Dark Knight

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: Got inspired to do another chapter today! Wanna thank CASISMYFAVORITE for taking the time to review my baby! Please get an account so I can reply. I always reply each review. Cas is my favorite too, you know.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER X: THE ONE WHERE DEAN NAMES THE NEW KITTEN**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Just a tiny scene here. Can't forget the rescued kitty! **

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Dean is lying on the Novaks' rather massive black sofa, his head resting on a pillow on Castiel's lap. On his stomach sways the tiny black kitten his boyfriend rescued not two weeks ago. The furry thing keeps trying to fall asleep, but the blonde teenager keeps tickling and waking him up.

"Ah," Cas says distractedly, still staring at the historical fiction movie playing on TV. Dean opens his mouth obediently, and pale fingers slither a piece of juicy roasted pork into his mouth.

Apparently, they are enjoying family dinner time. At least, that was what he had been invited to the house for. Except, he just found an all you can eat buffet on the kitchen table, Balthazar holed up in his office, Xica speaking about projections and budgets and whatnot into a hands free device, Genevieve doing something in the basement, and Castiel filling up this plate with pasta and pork.

"_Um…" was all he said, and Cas had looked up from filling his plate and tilted his head slightly. _

"_You get used to it. Come on; let's see what's on television. I'll feed you."_

Dean thinks he can get used to getting hand fed.

The kitten meows, a tiny, nearly breathless cry that the blonde believes takes all of the little animal's energy to give. A needle-like fang manages to sink into the pad of his thumb and he hisses, but refuses to stop the stroking.

"He's tired, Dean. Please let him sleep," Cas chides him, still distracted by the movie. Apparently the man was playing around with wolves. Whatever; no cowboys present in the movie, no attention given to the movie.

"But he's so cute!" Dean tells him in a baby voice as he pulls the kitten higher towards his chest. "Just look at him."

"He'll be even cuter asleep. Ah."

Open mouth. Receive pasta.

"No' wit' doshe peepersh closhed."

"Please don't speak with a full mouth."

Dean ignores him in favor of bothering the kitten until he opens his eyes again. He's met with an annoyed quicksilver gaze, before the feline blinks and looks elsewhere, trying to settle down again.

"You should name him," the brunette tells him, and Dean tries to see his boyfriend's face past the plate floating in the way.

"Dude, he's your cat. You name the little guy."

Castiel hums. "I named Grace," he counters, and the gray cat meows softly in recognition from her rest draped over her owner's feet. "Name this one."

The sixteen-year-old looks down to his chest again, where the kitten has curled into an even smaller shape. He rests his hand over it, and marvels at how he covers it up completely.

"It's so tiny," he murmurs absentmindedly.

"Please don't name him Tiny."

"But he is!"

"Be more original. Ah."

More pork, this time.

"Awrigh'."

"Chew, Dean."

"Mhm."

Dean spends the time it takes him to chew on the meat to think.

"His fur's jet black, Cas. How did you see him in the dark?"

"The headlights silhouetted him. Caught the movement. Scared me, actually. Thought it might've been something else."

"What, like a mini chupacabra?"

"You never know what could be out there," Cas answers in such a flat tone that a shiver runs up the blonde's spine. What _could _be out there?

"A creature of the night, huh?" and Dean wakes the little animal once again, this time raising him high above his face, causing Cas to shift as he tries to move his plate out of the feline's way. "Bet something pretty bad happened to your parents."

"Dean…"

"Bet you were the only survivor."

"That's horrible, Dean."

"Bet you fought you're way through cold, and weariness, and hunger."

"Now that's just dramatic."

"But then Cas swooped in, and you rose away from the Dark, like…like…" and the name hits him like a ton of bricks. "Aha!" the blonde cries out as he sits up straight abruptly. The brunette does some pretty impressive arm contortions to get the food away from danger. "I've got it, Cas!"

"That's great." Dean ignores the sarcasm tainting the voice behind him.

"This kitty you see right here: he is The Night. He is…Batman!"

There's a pretty long silence following his awesome naming moment.

"You're serious." Dean ignores the resigned tone.

"Deadly," he answers, quite proudly.

Batman swipes sleepily at his wrist once, before just giving up and falling asleep still clutched high above them all.

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**TBC**

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**A/N: I have a beta fish called Optimus Prime...**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	11. Secret Keeper

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XI: THE ONE WHERE DEAN TELLS JO A SECRET**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: It's a stormy night, and Jo's totally not scared. Dean calms her down anyways.**

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It's the loud rumble of thunder that causes him to jerk suddenly into wakefulness.

He finds himself staring at the old blue wallpaper pattern of the wall just a few inches besides him. Jo must have woken up as well.

She hates thunder with a passion, Dean found out when he was a kid. It's the reason why they bunk together, although they make up a thousand different other reasons.

Dean remembers being eight years old and arriving at the Singer household just as the storm season had been passing through.

* * *

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.

Jo had been a stubborn girl even that young, and refused to tell anyone about her fear. But when that first thunderstorm blasted through the town, Dean had gotten up from the bed he was sharing with his snoring brother to go take a piss. The girl's whimpers had been barely audible what with the ruckus going on outside, but he managed to catch them, and he had curiously gone to investigate the sound.

He had pushed on the half-open door of the room and his gaze had quickly landed on the bed. Jo had been sitting up with the bed sheets over her, rocking slightly back and forth. When lightning had flashed, the figure had tensed, and when thunder struck she had jerked so violently Dean had thought she was going to fall of the bed.

"_Joanna?" he called out._

_The little girl jumped and quickly yanked off the bed sheets. A pair of scared eyes tried to glare at him._

"_It's Jo and go away. I'm trying to sleep."_

Dean had thoroughly ignored the shaky order and proceeded to sit beside her and play stupid little games until the girl had fallen asleep.

A week later, the blonde boy had demanded to move in to the same room as Jo, citing irreconcilable differences with his younger brother. "Sammy's an annoying baby and Jo's awesome," had been his exact words.

* * *

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.

A sudden flash of lightning brightens the room and he hears Jo whine in annoyance. Not two seconds later the thunder strikes so loud that the window panes rattle and the blonde girl squawks in frightened indignation.

There's the sudden rustle of a comforter being shoved to the side, and then two quick, soft footfalls and then his own comforter is being lifted. Dean turns around, and presses his back completely against the wall as Jo slips into the small bed. She shuffles as close as physically possible to him, tries to curl into his torso, head under his chin and resting on his right arm. He hugs her with his left arm, and takes in the coconut scent of her hair. He finds the tropical smell hilarious, since they live so far away from anything even resembling a palm tree.

"This is so annoying," she grumbles softly. Dean hums a sound to acknowledge he heard her speak.

Lightning flashes again, and as soon as it does the thunder cracks through the air and Dean swears that one landed inside the property. Jo does this squeaking sound that she will never admit to being able to make and curls impossibly tighter into herself.

"Dean?" she asks breathlessly.

"Right here," he mumbles, his ears still ringing a little from the sound but his mind already wandering off into sleep.

"Dean!" Jo says more forcefully and actually jabs at his chest.

"Wha-What?!"

"Talk to me," she orders.

"No!" he protests, and starts snoring loudly.

"So help me God, Dean, I will kick you in the nuts!" It's a very real threat and he knows it.

"Okay, okay! Talking, talking. This is me talking. Happy?"

"No you idiot, tell me something."

"Like what?"

"A secret," she whispers, and Dean opens his eyes.

He takes in the shadows of his cousin's messy bed, the WWE poster of Batista that they both appreciate, and then closes his eyes again. This was their safe room. Everything that happened here stayed here. It has been that way since that first night eight years ago.

"A secret?" His heart speeds up a little.

"Yeah."

Dean lets out a soft rush of breath, and light flashes through the room again. This time the rumbling sounds very far away, but he still holds his cousin tight.

"Jo?" he whispers, and then buries his face into her hair.

"What is it?"

And he could say so many things at the moment. Something stupid or funny to make Jo laugh and forget what she's talking about, until the next thunder strikes and she forces herself to fall back asleep.

"I'm in love with Cas."

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**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	12. School Starts

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: Have you guys ever noticed that the Impala's first license plate says KAZ? KAZ. _KAZ._ ****As in Cas. As in Castiel. As in angel of the lord. Was it a coincidence? Was it?**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XII: THE ONE WHERE SCHOOL STARTS**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: It's the first week of school and Dean and Cas are miserable. Totally agonized over this chapter and then inspiration struck and I wrote it all in about two hours and a half. Muse, why u not like clockwork?**

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**_._**

_Dr. Sawyer stretched her neck from side to side and stifled a yawn._

_It was a miraculously slow in the ER that night. It's one of the reasons why she loved working away from the city: less people, less foolishness bound to happen so close to midnight. It was as she was making her way towards the coffee maker at the nurse's station that the somewhat peaceful time was broken. _

_The glass double doors slid open and in came a flurry of limbs and a ruckus of noise. Dr. Sawyer rushed towards the entrance, trying to take in everything. There was a man, tall, blonde, with an absolutely panicked expression in his face as he asked for help. In one arm pretty much dangled a short, dark-skinned woman, her face obscured by her hair, spouting out what the doctor believed to be foreign curse words between unleashing rather miserable coughs. On the other arm swayed a resigned-looking young man, his pale skin heavily flushed, blue eyes glassy. _

"_What seems to be the problem?" she speaks out firmly, quickly gaining the blonde man's attention as the other two swiveled to look at her in a more dazed fashion. The woman's face was suddenly visible, and the doctor realized she was just as flushed as the boy, but there was still some fight left in her feverish eyes. _

"_My Xica just returned from Ecuador," the man began. 'Xica' tried to loudly interrupt in what Dr. Sawyer thought was Portuguese, but the man continued speaking over her at a louder tone, "She came back from Ecuador and twenty-four hours later she started exhibiting symptoms. A few hours after _that_ my Cassy began with the symptoms, too."_

_So maybe the man had a reason to look as panicked as he did. Sicknesses brought in from foreign countries were usually more serious than not. _

_She immediately began ordering blood tests and had her patients connected to IV drips and forced into a pair of beds._

_-0-0-0-0-_

"_You two have the common flu. Horribly uncomfortable, but nothing too serious," Dr. Sawyer diagnosed._

_Mr. Balthazar Novak, as she had learned was the man's name a few hours prior, slumped in obvious relief from his chair situated between the two beds where his family rested. _

_Xica muttered something that still was nowhere near close to the English language and young Castiel rolled his eyes as best he could._

"_Eu disse a ele__que...I told him," there's a long session of coughing; "I was fine until we stopped at that fast food place an hour after landing. Some old man...tossiu...all over me." Her explanation dissolved into Portuguese again and the doctor believed she was not coherent enough to be able to translate properly._

"_Cassy was still up when we returned so she hugged him and then went to shower," Balthazar picks up from where the good doctor stopped understanding._

_The teenager in question coughed, gaining their attention. "Can we go home now?" The question was miserable, voiced from what normally is already roughened tone, and paired with those sad blue eyes, she felt something rip open in her chest and she just wanted to cradle the boy in her arms. Mr. Novak does it for her, although the young man doesn't seem to be very grateful for it._

"_Yes, you may go home. I will write you a prescription to try and get rid of that nasty sickness a bit faster. Remember to drink lots of fluids," she indicated to her patients. "And you, Castiel. The flu seems to have hit you the hardest. I recommend bed rest for the next few nights." _

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_._

_._

"And now I can't go to school tomorrow," mutters Castiel from under the mass of bed sheets and dirty tissues.

Dean is lying on the other side of the bed, wanting to reach out for his suffering boyfriend and hug him as tightly as possible, but the brunette had set up a barrier of pillows around himself before he had arrived at the house.

"Don't worry Cas," he says, trying to hide his disappointment. He had really wanted to start school with a bang; leather jacket and boots, a sweet ride, and his boyfriend's hand in his. "You concentrate on getting better. Teachers don't do much on the first few days of school anyways."

"Dean?" his Cas rasps, and a warm, pale hand slithers out from under the pillow wall. The blonde immediately reaches out for it, grasping it tightly and completely ignoring how clammy it is. He moves closer and dares to kiss the knuckles. He imagines Cas's sooty lashes fluttering as a smile worms its way through his lips. There's a breathy huff and Dean knows his boyfriend's pleased with his actions.

"Sleep, angel. I'll be right here with you."

* * *

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.

"Geez Louise, man? Who peed on your cornflakes this morning?"

It's Meg, her black eyes glittering oddly under the school's artificial lights. As she sits beside him at the lunch table, she crosses her long legs, the wine red cheerleader uniform under her buckled leather jacket barely hiding any skin. She's pretty, at first glance, like a porcelain doll, but the girl has a smile that can cut throats.

Even if she's a bit of a rotten apple, Dean enjoys her spunk, how she takes no shit from anybody. Meg is the only other girl who he would say is similar to Jo. It's probably why they've never really liked each other.

"Didn't wanna say anything, but yeah, man. What's up?" It's Dave, a friend from the baseball team sitting in front of him. He's incredibly pale for someone who plays outside. His hair is so red it looks like a flame. His eyebrows are quirked in curiosity, so Dean firmly ignores him in order to play with his Tater Tots.

A lunch tray lands and rattles on the table, followed by Jo dressed in her own cheerleader uniform.

"Lay off him guys. He'll stop moping as soon as Cas gets better. Isn't that right Dean?"

"Cass? Who is this Cass? She your new squeeze, Honey Bunny?" Meg drawls, eyebrows rising in curiosity.

"Shut up," he answers miserably, and dejectedly stands to throw away his half-eaten food.

"Wow," murmurs Dave.

* * *

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"Winchester! Get your head in the game! It's only the third day of school; you can't possibly be stressed over anything too serious!"

"Yeah, Coach Henriksen!" Dean answers, and continues pushing himself through his exercises with the rest of his football team.

"He been acting odd, hasn't he," Rick, one of Dean's teammates mutters to Josh, a linebacker. They're both huge men, built like tanks, their chocolaty skin glistening with sweat.

Josh grunts in agreement. "Heard from Meg that he's lovesick."

"Sheesh man, guy gets a girl every other week! How does he do it?"

"Stop gossiping like old ladies and act like the brutal team that you are!"

"Yes, Coach Henriksen!" All the players answer in unison.

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"Alright everyone! Today we start reading The Scarlet Letter," Mrs. Bright begins cheerily. "If you could all reach under your desks you'll find a copy of the novel."

She watches as everyone does as told, except for one boy. Dean Winchester. He's never been her most enthusiastic student, but at least he had always done as told even as he joked with his classmates. What she sees now is the embodiment of abject misery, as he stares out the second story window from his seat. The blonde teenager heaves a great sigh, and it's like what little life he has left is deflating away.

The teacher moves close to the boy, rests her hand on his shoulder. He doesn't startle, just swivels his head to look at her, and those green eyes are just so sad that Mrs. Bright feels her old heart breaking.

"Are you alright, Dean?" she asks in a low voice. He shrugs, like he doesn't even have the energy for a verbal response.

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Bright!" It's quirky Mr. Ash Miles that speaks up, one of Dean's friends. He winks at her. "Just missin' his heart, ain't ya, Dean?"

Dean just crosses his arms on the desk and rests his head on them, staring away from them all and out the window.

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"Ow! Ow! Ow! Winchester let go!" Lewis, a member of the wrestling whines from the headlock Dean has him in, and it takes a couple seconds more, but then he's releasing the poor guy.

"Whoa, Winchester! We don't try to choke our teammates!"

"Yeah, Coach Turner," Dean mumbles and the older coach raises an eyebrow. He'd expected a cocky reply, not such a submissive one. The blonde usually loves wrestling, stating something about how he can make his own choices instead of depending on other teammates.

"Take a breather, man. Come back when you feel like you're not about to accidentally murder innocents."

"I-I didn't mean to! My mind was some other place."

"Just go take a breather."

"Alright," Dean mumbles again, and walks over to the bleachers on the far side of the basketball court to grab his sports drink.

"You alright, Lewis?" The coach asks the boy who's still rubbing at his neck. His long curly locks hide most of his face as they both stare at the slumped figure of the usually very energetic boy.

"Yeah. I think he just forgot his own strength, is all."

"Know anything 'bout why he would be all wonkers?"

Lewis shrugs. "Heard some rumors about some chick but I haven't seen him with anyone around school. Bad summer breakup, maybe?"

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.

By Friday of the first week of school, Dean feels like just giving everything up, running out to the school parking lot, driving out to the farm house, and burying himself against Castiel's back, and not coming out until the brunette is fully healed from the flu.

He hasn't been apart from his boyfriend for longer than eight hours since they started officially dating back in June. Now they're apart for nearly twenty hours at a time and only see each other for three. It's physically painful.

As the last class of the day ends, he makes a beeline for the Impala parking lot, not even stopping by his locker. Jo has to run to keep up with him.

He turns the engine with a roar, but doesn't even relish the fact that the students close by jump at the sudden sound. The ride is silent, his cousin huffing but not saying a word. They pick up Sam at his middle school, and he is all smiles and eagerness until he enters the car. The oppressing silence makes him shut down, and he only mumbles a "Hey Dean," as he buckles up.

Dean grunts in response, before mechanically driving back to the Salvage Yard. He just wants to drop them off so he can get back to his Cas.

His mind is wandering somewhere around Castiel's bed sheets when the car drives under the entrance sign and through the columns of old junked cars.

"Oh hey!" Jo suddenly chirps. "Look Dean! It's Cas!"

The blonde boy barely puts his car in park before he's halfway to the house's front porch, where his Cas, his sweet, beautiful Castiel is sitting on the steps.

He doesn't think before he sweeps him up in his arms. The brunette grunts in surprise, but then huffs a laughter that turns into a small cough.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" Dean pulls away, only to lay his hands on the sides of his boyfriend's neck, foreheads resting against each other.

"I'm feeling better. Thought the smell of engine grease and a little sun would do me good."

"Let me rephrase that. Balthazar let you leave your bed?"

At this, Castiel smiles secretly. "Genevieve helped me sneak out."

Dean laughs.

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.

"Wow, bipolar much?" comments Meg, Josh's arm wrapped around her shoulder. "Last week you were on suicide watch and now it looks like Mommy just told you they'd celebrate your birthday at Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie."

There's a smile on Dean's face that splits from one ear to the other. His body can't stop fidgeting as he leans against his locker, staring at the school entrance fixatedly.

"Wow, Meg, I think it's a little disturbing that you know the whole name for Plucky's," retorts Jo, leaning languidly against the locker next to Dean's.

"I have a little sister," Meg spits, eyes narrowed. And yeah, who could ever forget about Ruby.

"Yo man, you're actually shaking. What's up?" Josh punches Dean on the arm lightly, and Dean lets out a giggle. An actual giggle.

Jo smirks. "Cas is coming in today," she singsongs.

They all "ooh," in interest as Dave and Ash come join them.

"What's up?"

"Dean's girl's finally coming to school!" Josh pipes up.

"Haha! We finally get to meet the one that's been scrambling your brains!"

Ash and Jo share a smile, because he's already been informed about what to expect to come through the school doors.

"Hey man, Cas not good enough for the Impala? Why didn't you bring her to school?"

"Oh, Mr. Novak wanted to drop off Cas today. Something about making sure the flu is all out of the system."

"Poor thing, sick on her first week of school," Meg mock-pouts, then smirks. "It's dangerous, leaving someone like Dean unattended. He could wander off. She must be real good girlfriend though, to have you by the short and curlies like this."

They all laugh, even Jo, but then Dean shoots up straight, shouting a strangled "Cas!" before dashing away from his crowd of friends.

"Where?!" Dave demands, as everyone cranes their neck to see around the arriving students to find the girl Dean is rushing towards.

And then Dean wraps big muscled arms around a lean, pale guy. They're both smiling wide, and then they're kissing each other like they have no idea what PDA means or that it's prohibited in school grounds.

"That. Is Cas," declares Jo in smug tone. She leans away from the locker and grabs Ash by the his shirt collar. "Come on, we'll see him at lunch. They'll be attached at the hip from now on."

"But-but-but that's a guy! Dean's kissing a guy!" Dave splutters.

Jo hums. "That's nothing compared to what they've made the family watch."

Meg laughs. "I knew all those sports and working out were overcompensation for something."

"This is wild," Josh breathes.

All around them, spectators stop and gasp at the sight of the Dean Winchester, making out with another boy. Some girls actually wail and break down into tears.

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**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	13. Good Intentions

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: MY GOODNESS! It's been 14 days! It's felt like three months or something! Lol! Sorry for not updating any sooner, but it's impossible to update such a non-angst story like this one when you're going through some of the most angst-filled moments of my real life. That and Redemption Road is sucking away my soul and turning my heart to dust inch by unforgiving inch. I know the last episode airs today, but I can't read it now. I wouldn't be able to sleep xD! If you hear a despair-filled cry of "Noooooooooo!" in the distance, it's probably me finally reading RR. **

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XIII: THE ONE WHERE VICTOR HENRIKSEN MEANS WELL**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, right? And that ignorance is supposedly bliss? Yeah. You know what I love about Henriksen? He's a good guy, but he still figures in with the bad guys in canon cuz he keeps trying to stop Sam and Dean. I wanted to kind of keep up parallels, You know?**

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It's a sweltering hot afternoon in the middle of September. Out on the grassy green football field, twenty-two of the school's strongest male students are struggling through their fourth set of fifty push-ups in that suffer-in-silence way that proves they know that protesting gets them nothing but more push-ups.

Coach Victor Henriksen watches over the players with a practiced eye. He takes in their postures, analyses how fast their breaths are coming out, and counts the pulses of that thick vein popping out of their necks. They've already won every game they've played. He plans on getting to the top _invictus_.

The tall, dark skinned coach slows as he walks by Dean Winchester. That son-of-a-gun is smiling at the ground, like the punishing training session he's dishing out today is _fun._ And Henriksen has been around Winchester and Harvelle long enough to know that this _is _fun to them.

He eyes the boy a bit longer, and sighs. His head swivels over automatically towards the tree by the bleachers.

There's a figure sitting under the shade. A boy, slim, and pale and more interested in the textbook on his lap than on his surroundings.

His head swivels back to Winchester, who is about to begin his fifth set.

Of course the entire school knows about how Winchester had entered summer a straight man and then left it gayer than Richard Simmons singing a duet with Elton John in a bath house.—kids' words, not his. If the rather graphic display of face-sucking right inside the school building entrance had not been witnessed by all—they had received five days worth of detention with a smile on Winchester's face and a blush on the other boy's—then surely they caught the excessive cuddling in corners and handholding down the hallways.

The public displays have been so sudden that it's obvious everyone's still reeling. But it's been a few weeks now, and people are starting to regain their sense balance. And he knows that problems are going to start soon.

"Where is he?"

The voice is deep, though old. It comes from behind Henriksen and it makes the man want to jump a mile high into the air. But he restrains himself, just barely. There's no way he's going to show weakness in front of Coach Rufus Turner. The man is a legend. And just because he's aged does not mean he's stopped being dangerously sharp.

As his breaths even out once again, he jerks his chin over to the tree by the bleachers, and Coach Turner directs his gaze out towards the young boy.

Winchester's boyfriend.

"Huh," Turner hums, and Henriksen finds himself taking in the boy again. He really is much slimmer than Dean. A couple inches shorter too. His ruffled hair and the complete look of concentration that he's giving the thick book in his hands causes one word to rise up in his mind: Nerdy.

Really? That's what Winchester likes in guys? He chases tall curvy girls with impressive racks, but with the guys he prefers skinny and nerdy? He doesn't get it at all.

"He's not what I was expecting," Rufus Turner comments and that is so much better than what Henriksen's been thinking.

They both manage to sigh at the same time.

This is the first time they've been able to catch a glimpse of the Novak. Apparently his and Winchester's schedule doesn't match at all except for lunch time and the class afterwards, and the coaches had been banned of ever entering the cafeteria again (they don't talk about it). And since they dealt with Winchester only during sports-related situations, it had meant near-impossible odds of ever having the chance to meet him.

"We've got to do something about this."

"Something about what, exactly?" There's an edge to Turner's voice and Henriksen cringes. Rufus is incredibly pro-equality, so long as his students can do something sports-worthy. If they can't, then the old man dismisses them faster than one can say "sports aren't everything." Actually, you don't say "sports aren't everything" in front of Rufus Turner. He might bury you alive somewhere.

"That's not what I'm saying," defends Henriksen.

"Then start explaining."

It's the third time he sighs in less than twenty minutes. Before he answers, though, he looks over at the boys in the field, and sees they've finished their push-ups. Even Winchester seems a bit winded now that he's stopped moving and is just sitting on the ground.

The younger coach whistles ear-piercingly loud, and all of the teenager's heads turn towards him.

"Alright fellas! That's enough for today. Hit the showers and see ya' next week!"

The kids stand up with a bit of effort, then trudge tiredly back towards the school building. Before following, Winchester turns towards the tree, and as if sensing that the blonde teenager is looking at him, the Novak kid looks up. He winks, the other smiles and turns back to his book.

"Alright, here's the deal," he begins, once he knows there are no ears close by to listen. "I don't really care about who Winchester wants to be with. But I want you to think. Think about teenage idiocy and how Lebowski just got a month's worth of detention for filling up that artsy kid's locker and backpack with chocolate pudding."

Rufus snorts because the prank had, admittedly, been a little bit funny.

"Dean Winchester represents a stereotype, and you know it. And now here is this active, manly boy who's into rock and roll, and muscle cars, breaking the high school stereotype and landing himself completely on the other side of the perceived spectrum.

"Mix that with the fact that his boyfriend looks kinda nerdy, and you know problems are gonna start soon. And some teachers might say that this is something the kids gotta face for themselves or whatever. But what these teachers have probably forgotten about is the Autumn Incident of Dean Winchester's Sophomore Year."

Coach Turner's face drains slightly of color and yeah, Henriksen can tell he remembers, too.

* * *

_._

_._

_Tony Bomber's terrified screams echoed down the hallway, making the locker doors almost rattle._

_He was scrambling around the floor, trying to crawl away. But then a thick hand gripped his ankle and dragged him back._

_The hand belonged to Dean Winchester. Fury was too weak a word to describe the emotion that he felt at the moment._

"_I'M GONNA RIP YOU ARMS OFF! I'M GONNA GUT YOU AND MAKE YOU EAT YOUR SHITTY INTESTINES!" he roared. _

_There was an upperclassman from the wrestling team on each leg trying to drag him back and down. Jo Harvelle was dangling from his back, arms around his neck tight enough to choke._

_He didn't notice._

"_Dean! Stop, Dean! Dean!" screeched Jo._

_Dean roared._

* * *

.

.

They watch silently as Novak stuffs his book back into his bag, then stands up to walk towards the student's parking lot.

"People tend to forget that you just don't upset a Winchester." Henriksen comments, and then a thick silence settles between the coaches on the now empty field.

"You might be on to something there, Victor," Turner admits, albeit reluctantly.

Victor thinks he's won him over, but then the older man keeps talking.

"But this could blow up ten different ways from Sunday. I ain't gonna suffer fools with you, Victor. It's not Winchester who you've got to be wary about at the end of it all," he sucks his teeth, and then clicks his tongue. "Good luck, though. You gonna need it."

* * *

.

.

It's how the one-man operation Don't Let The Sleeping Giant Wake begins the following Monday.

Henriksen decides that it's prudent to leave the safety of the office he shares with Coach Turner and joins the roaming of the school, watching out for any potential threats against Novak.

He finds the first altercation not three hours after putting the operation in motion.

Castiel is with his classmates outside on the school yard. Mrs. Bright, the English teacher, enjoys taking the kids out to read under the trees this time of year.

The boy is sitting cross-legged on the outskirts of the group, book forgotten on his lap while he plays around with his phone. It's when two more boys come and sit down on each side of him that things start looking bad.

The boys are none other than the Rumm twins. A pair of tall, skinny kids filled with nothing but smart-assery. They start nudging him with their elbows, and young Castiel tenses. Their backs are all to him, so he can't see exactly what they're doing.

That's quickly remedied though. Henriksen moves, crossing the grounds with a purpose unlike any other. When he reaches them, he finds a way for his shadow to overcast all three of the kids.

Almost comically, their dark heads of hair swivel around to see who is standing behind them.

Victor glares.

"What are you doing?" he demands, voice rough. His tone is quickly recognized by the rest of the eleventh-graders, and Mrs. Bright.

"What is going on here?" the English teacher demands, her voice high and thin, but still very commanding.

"Get away from him," he barks back to the twins, choosing to ignore the elder teacher in order to deal with the potential bullying situation at hand.

Both boys scramble to their feet and start to raise their hands, automatically creating a three-foot space between Novak and them.

"We were just tweeting," one of them shakes out. Yeah, Victor's got a bit of a reputation.

And what exactly was this 'tweeting?' Sounded like it could turn dangerous.

Victor looks down at his chosen charge. He's looking back at him in confusion, eyes squinting against the light of the sun outlining his body.

"Tweeting? Is that what they're calling it?"

"Coach Henriksen, explain yourself for disrupting my class this instant!"

"If they're to be believed, they were 'just tweeting'."

"Yeah, man. Castiel's got a Tweeter account. We just wanted to follow each other!" One twin says.

"Dude knows chicks from Japan!" The other twin continues.

"Henriksen, leave! Now." Mrs. Bright is usually very nice towards her students, but her temper always runs short when someone takes away control of her class.

"Alright, alright! I'm leaving! But you two," he points at the brunette beanpoles, "watch yourselves."

With that, he turns around and leaves, satisfied that he struck fear in the heart of those kids.

* * *

.

.

Just a few days later, Victor finds himself glaring through the door's window at the flock of chattering girls in the art class.

They're all cheerleaders giggling and gossiping as they set about doing all the glittery "School Spirit" signs.

Novak's with them, lugging around boxes of supplies, laying out signs everywhere to dry, and pretty much unknowingly playing the part of manservant.

And yeah, he's outraged by this. Just because the boy is with one of the school's most popular—or probably infamous, now—boys, doesn't mean that the popular girls could take him and use him like he's some sort of slave to their petty wants.

He searches out for Jo Harvelle, but he can't find her, so he settles for the next best thing: shoving the door opens hard enough for it to slam against the wall with an echoing '_BANG!'_

Meg Masters is the first girl he sets his sights on, and she stares back with those dark eyes of hers, a thin eyebrow raised in amused confusion.

"Can I help you?" the little bi_—baby girl_ drawls out.

Henriksen sets his glare on her, and she raises her hands in mock placation.

He points straight at Novak. "You think this is right?" he demands, first at Masters, then at the other girls.

"What are you going on about?" the girl rolls her eyes, crossing glittery arms over her chest.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Masters." He turns his eyes to roam over the rest of the cheerleaders. Young things getting away with too-short skirts and overly made-up eyes. They all seem like carbon copies of each other. Only Meg and Jo tend to stand out, both of their piss-and-vinegar attitudes completely at odds with the other girls' perkiness.

"Castiel was just helping us, Coach Henriksen," says one girl, Jane? Jenny? June? Her hazel eyes grow wide and sad, trying to be cute or something.

He turns to the object in question. The boy's face and hair is covered with gold glitter, making his whole head sparkle as he tilts his head to the side. Something flashes through those blue eyes. Probably realization that he is being used.

"Castiel's got no business here! And where's Harvelle?"

"Jo went over to Mrs. Bright. She's got some of those foam letters that we—"

"And why can't he be here?" Meg interrupts, her tone not rising, but still morphing into something he doesn't quite get.

Victor growls. "He ain't a cheerleader." He goes back to _Castiel _pinning him with a look that he hopes the boy will understand. _Don't let them use you, boy. _"Are you a cheerleader?" A beat of silence. "Well, are ya?"

"No," the answer is short, and rough, and the kid doesn't move, just stares straight into his soul.

"Do you wanna be a cheerleader?"

"No."

"Then go to the library or something and leave these little girls to carry their ribbons and glitter."

With that, he storms back out.

* * *

.

.

It's the end of their second week in Operation D.L.T.S.G.W. Both Coaches Turner and Henriksen are crossing the school campus to get to the teacher's lounge.

It's lunch time B for the kids, and there are some who have wandered out of the cafeteria to eat while sitting on the grass or under the shade of the trees.

The sky is clear and blue, and the first cool autumn breezes are starting to blow through.

Henriksen thinks it's a rather perfect day. Or at least, that's what he was thinking until he caught sight of trouble.

The younger coach smacks his hand against the older one's shoulder. And when Turner pays attention to him, he cants his head to the side in silence, directing him to look over at the soda machines by one of the cafeteria's entrances.

Right by the one marketing out blue Gatorade, is Castiel, one hand in his pocket, the other clutching one of his backpack straps. In front of him are two boys. The red-head is Dave from his baseball team; tall and well built. The other is Lewis from Turner's wrestling team; small and wiry, but still capable of packing a quite a punch.

This would just not do. Intimidation was such a bad show of sportsmanship, and he just isn't going to stand it.

Silently, he tries to get Turner to follow him, but the older coach just shakes his head, and keeps walking towards the lounge. Henriksen glares at the back of the man's head, before changing directions towards the soda machines. He marches with a purpose, eyes set intently on his unknowing charge.

Novak looks up and away from the other two boys, his eyes quickly landing on the teacher, and suddenly his posture changes. He doesn't really understand the boy's body language, but he gathers that maybe he looks like that because he doesn't want to give away that the teacher is getting closer.

But with every yard that he gets closer to the soda machines, the more Novak tenses.

He's going to give himself away.

He walks a bit faster.

And then suddenly, Winchester's there, fingers hooking into one of the belt loops of his boyfriend's pants. There's a wide smile on his tanned face, and Dave and Lewis holler in welcome just like teenagers are bound to do.

The coach stops around the same moment. Castiel is smiling and nodding along the others' conversation, but his eyes are still trained on the dark-skinned man.

Henriksen decides to wink at him. Show him some support. Lucky guy got his boyfriend to protect him in time.

With that, he decides to go back to making his way towards the lounge.

* * *

.

.

It goes on like this for many more weeks. September ends and October begins, and it's already nearing the end of football season.

Whenever the coach figures out that Castiel might be in trouble, he interferes. He has successfully broken up at least 15 different moments for potential bullying.

Winchester, of course, is oblivious. Victor is that good. And he figures the kid isn't very proud about receiving certain kinds of attention from the students, so he doesn't tell his boyfriend anything either. _And_ there's also the fact that Winchester is completely focused on football.

Nationals, man.

Those big blue eyes of his always manage to turn their laser focus on him whenever he's around. Like he psychically knows he's there. And even if this kid's face barely ever betrays any emotions, he knows that when his lips twitch it's because he wants to say what he's thinking. "Thanks," perhaps? Or, "What you're doing is commendable."

But no, that mouth of his stays shut.

No matter. Henriksen didn't get into this expecting praise. It is hard work, keeping a safe environment for the students, and he's just glad he can help.

* * *

.

.

He looks out towards his Freshman Year Phys. Ed. class in the school's gym. The group is enormous, so he shares the load with Turner. The man is over by the collapsible bleachers, talking to some kid. They've been playing volleyball these past few weeks, and she looks like she has enough potential to get into Coach Annie Hawkins's volleyball team.

Oooh, maybe Annie would visit their office later. Now there's a fine woman if he's ever seen one.

The bell rings, and all the students forget whatever it was they were doing in favor of stampeding towards the locker rooms.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Henriksen hums as he folds the volleyball net and stores it. It's been a good day, so far, and he's looking forwards to just sprawl on his chair and laze around for 50 minutes.

Free periods so near the end of season are like an oasis to a dying man in the desert.

Turner returns, and together they lock up the gym and start walking out to their office. On the way, they pass the trophy case—more like trophy _wall_—and yeah, Victor can't stop imagining the new trophy he knows his boys are going to bring home.

Victor can't help but notice, though, the students that migrate from one classroom to another in the five minute class change. All of them, from the geeky, to the ditzy blondes, from the punks, to the Christian Society members, are all giving them strange looks. Or rather, giving _him_ strange looks. Then they quickly turn towards their friends to whisper things out of the corner of their mouths.

Henriksen gets that he can be very intimidating, and the kids tend to be wary. But this is taking it to a whole new level. The younger coach looks at Turner, who shrugs and quirks his eyebrows into a teenagers-are-crazy face.

* * *

.

_(Rufus Turner POV)_

_._

In the safety of their desks inside the rather cramped office, Turner writes out his plans for wrestling season in his trusty scrap journal.

It's been a slow day with little to do. It tends to happen on Wednesdays. Everyone is ready for it to be Friday, but they still have to deal with the forty-eight hours in between. No one can be very motivated about anything more than falling asleep on their desks.

It's what Henriksen's doing actually. He's crossed his arms and lied his head on them, and it's been five minutes since the man talked so Turner believes he's fallen asleep.

That's easily remedied. He rips out a piece of paper from the notebook and balls it up before chucking it at the side of the man's bald head. Victor startles slightly, and his eyes look up to quickly find his own.

He quirks an eyebrow, twitches his upper lip, and Henriksen glares. The man opens his mouth, about to say something probably bitchy, when the door to their office opens just wide enough for a slim figure to slide through. The figure quickly slams it shut, its back to them, and both coaches hear the door's locks sliding closed.

It's a kid. Of course it's a kid. Ninety-six percent of the school's population is made up of students. It's male, the back of his neck is pale, and the dark locks of his hair are in a ruffled mess. They've seen this one before.

Novak.

Henriksen forgets his drowsiness as he gets up from his chair, standing straight and commanding, just like he always does when he figures something's wrong.

And something's definitely wrong, Rufus figures, if the boy went to hide himself in their office.

Shit, was there something Henriksen missed? Some other kid that evaded his watchful eye?

They've both taken a shining to Novak. They really don't want something bad happening to him.

Rufus gets up as well, his mind resolved to get to the bottom of this.

"Castiel, is somethi—"

"Stop it."

And Rufus freezes, the rest of his words getting stuck in his throat, mouth still open to utter them out.

The command is rough. Rough like the jagged edges of a serrated knife sawing through bone. And it's sudden and deep like the unexpected roar of thunder as lighting strikes just three feet away from someone.

The boy turns, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Henriksen flinch. Later on that night, he'll absolutely refuse to remember how he jolts at the sight as well. Because gone is the impassive look, with the soft, pale features, and the innocently wide blue eyes.

Novak's face is warped into a scarlet something that might have resembled anger a few thousand levels of emotions ago. The lips are twisted into a snarl, nose and brows scrunched like the hungry wolves he's seen on hunts.

And Castiel is not small, not in the slightest. Even from his position, pressing up against the door, they can feel him filling up the room, his searing gaze settling down on Henriksen like he's a deity, judging the man from way on up in his throne.

"Stop. It," he says again, the sound tumbling out of his mouth and crashing into their ears. He moves forward with each word and Rufus distantly wonders why the ground isn't quaking with every step taken. He's standing between both desks now, although his entire focus is on the younger coach.

"You," he says, and it's like a damnation brought upon by the heavens; he's chosen Henriksen, and the entirety of his descendants will be affected by the actions of the one ancestor.

"You," he repeats again, as he moves to lean against the younger coach's desk, and for the first time since he's seen the boy, Turner realizes that Novak is taller than Henriksen. He sees Victor realize it as well, eyes widening just fractionally, his body slowly collapsing back into his chair. The man is unconsciously submitting to the boy. Rufus thinks he should feel indignation, though he's actually just wishing to do exactly the same thing. But he's a stubborn old fool and damn if a seventeen-year-old will make him lower himself.

"I know what you're doing. You think you're so skillful, so agile; appearing and disappearing before some other teacher can see you, having the perfect excuse if they ever do."

Novak straightens, and then swivels to look at him. He feels suddenly like an insect, stuck to a wall by the pins of his gaze, and is very grateful when the boy turns to continue speaking to Henriksen.

"I can see it in your eyes; the frustration and annoyance whenever you catch sight of me. Does it bother you?" He takes a step towards the desk, and Turner swallows. The tension is friggin' palpable. "Does it _rankle _you, that your favorite sports star has decided to turn _'twink'_?" And the word "twink" is growled so low that Turner thinks the boy will have permanent vocal cord damage, and it's accompanied by the most ridiculous air quotations he's ever seen. It's enough to break Victor away from the haze of shock Novak had managed to sink him into.

And Turner can see him, puffing up his chest like he's getting ready to spit fire in self defense.

Because, twink? That is definitely not what Henriksen's been thinking about, right? And what? What? Castiel thinks that Victor what?! He's obviously mistaken. As far as he knows the man has never been annoyed at the boy! Winchester's been playing even better than last year! Novak's been a blessing!

"Now you listen here, boy—"

"No!" Novak rumbles and Turner finds himself unconsciously freezing up again. "You listen," he continues with a hiss. He leans even further into Henriksen's space. "I'm attracted to Dean. Dean is attracted to me. We found each other. We chose each other. And nothing will cease our relationship but our own uninfluenced decisions."

Castiel takes a deep breath, and stands back up. His flashing eyes hopping over every inch of his skin, taking in every detail, he's sure.

"Novak, you've got everything wrong—" begins Henriksen, but Castiel quickly interrupts.

"The students are finally starting to notice, so don't pretend," he spits, "They've seen you, trying to isolate me, trying to force me to stop making friends…"

Rufus closes his own eyes, his mind too stretched to for a coherent thought. All this time, Victor's been trying to help, trying to do the right thing, and this…this is…

Shit. This is exactly what he was hoping wouldn't happen. This misunderstanding's going to cost Henriksen's weight in _blood_. He can practically hear Winchester sharpening his knives.

And Dean's just the tip of the "Sleeping Giant" iceberg. Because Victor's not taking into account Bobby Singer, and Ellen Harvelle. And don't forget Castiel's family; they're pretty much guaranteed to bring in some wrath, too.

"I'm not some weak thing that can be bullied into submission. So stop it. I'm not giving in. Dean's not letting me go. You've lost. I've won."

Castiel finally backs away from Henriksen's desk, standing painfully straight. Turner can see those baleful blue eyes peering down his nose at the man. For the longest time, a thick silence settles over everyone in the room, and Rufus tries to make himself as small as possible while still standing.

This is Henriksen's mess. Let him deal with this.

Victor finally, finally looks like he's going to give a response. He shifts, in his seat, then places his hands on the desk, then starts to stand up.

"Don't bother," Novak growls, before turning sharply to his right, and opening the door back up. He glares at the man one last time, before walking out and slamming the door closed behind him.

And Turner turns to look back at Henriksen, who's still midway to standing up, and looking at the door, his expression such a huge mixture of clashing emotions and thoughts that it's borderline hilarious. He looks like he just survived a one-minute F5 twister, and is still trying to figure out what in the world just happened.

That seems about right.

"Told ya your little project could blow up," Rufus drawls, finally sprawling back into his chair, pretending like Novak's little show didn't affect him at all.

"But…but I…he…"

"Good luck with cleaning it all up."

"I wasn't trying to…"

"I'm gonna go find Hawkins. Gotta talk shop with her."

* * *

.

.

Henriksen is in a daze for the rest of the day.

Over a month of work, down the drain. This whole time he hasn't been saving Castiel from potential bullies, but from potential friends. At least, that was what he had gotten from the boy's blowout.

He shivers, just remembering the look of the kid's face. Dean wasn't the only sleeping giant.

During school hours, he sets about walking through the hallways, trying to find Novak and explain what his intentions had been. But when he finds him, he doesn't dare go near him.

It's lunchtime, and he's sitting under a tree with Winchester pressed close by his side. The blonde is talking with his cousin, who's sitting cross-legged by his knee. Meg Masters has her head resting on Castiel's lap, and they're both watching something from the smart phone. The Rumm twins are laying down just a couple feet in front of them, heads by feet and pointing at the clouds, probably making out shapes or something.

Damn, but he'd gotten it all wrong. And now he's the one responsible for the look on the boy's face. Or rather, the non-look. All the rage and righteous indignation that Novak had displayed back in the office is completely wiped out of his face. Now it's just set into such an unemotional display, Henriksen's half-convinced the boy's going to turn into a statue any moment now.

Shit, how long 'til Winchester figures out there's something bothering his boyfriend?

Because before today, he's seen the boy calm, composed, and even slightly smiling sometimes. What happened for him to take action now? Today? Was it something he said? Something he did? What could've possibly set—?

Oh.

_Oh._

* * *

_._

_._

_This morning. Many of the upperclassmen hadn't wanted to go to homeroom class, and just kept lazying out by the school's entrance. And he had snarled and growled and told everyone that—_

_That he'd been watching them. Bitching and moaning and menstruating all over the place. School wasn't meant for socializing, or for behaving like whiny little fairies. So the students had to go to class before he made proper men and women out of them. And then, because he thought that Novak thought that they were in on a secret together, had smirked at the pale boy and left. _

_He knew there was a reason he hid in his office until his classes started. Victor's been dealing with pig-headed jocks for decades. He knows how motivate them. Those techniques don't translate well out of the sports arena. _

_Principal Moseley had raised an eyebrow, made some kind of weird sound in the back of her throat and had shaken her head._

"_Watch yourself, Henriksen," she had told him before walking back to her office. He should have taken her words as a warning._

-0-0-0-0-0-

Crap.

Victor just tosses and turns that night. Every time he manages to fall asleep, his mind dreams up this strange soap opera scene, where Castiel, dressed in a tight silver dress with a train, is laying down on a Victorian chaise lounge, wrist over his forehead. And then dashing Dean sweeps into the room dressed to the nines in a '20's gangster costume, demanding his boyfriend to tell him who is causing him such distress. In a soft pained voice, Castiel tells him that it is all Victor Henriksen's fault. And then thunder and lightning flashes from the windows, and Castiel sits up—huge diamond earring swaying all over the place—grabs the lapels of Dean's jacket and orders his boyfriend to kill Henriksen! Kill him dead! There is a dramatic swell of music, and that's right around the time that the coach wakes up.

This situation repeats itself all night long.

Come morning, Henriksen isn't even able to stomach breakfast.

He reaches the school just minutes before the first class starts. Most of the kids are already settling down in their homerooms.

Everything seems a bit duller, now that he knows he's not preventing any situations, or making someone else's life better. He's glad, at least, that the rest of the teacher population is not in the know of his idiotic actions.

The coach walks slowly to his office, his mind off trying to figure out how to fix this mess with Novak. The boy's a good kid, and he doesn't want to stay on his bad side. Doesn't want him to think he's some kind of intolerant, ignorant Neanderthal.

"Hey, Coach Henriksen," a deceptively sweet voice drawls from behind him, and every single hair in his body stands up straight. He turns around, and finds Meg Masters resting her body against a locker, one hand placed seductively on her hip. She takes her time looking at him from head to toe, and whatever she finds must be at least amusing, because a slow, admittedly uncomforting smile spreads across her lips.

"I don't have time for you," he growls, ready to turn back around and continue towards his intended destination.

"Principal Moseley wants you," she continues, her tone now definitely amused. "Someone's been a bad boy." She chuckles, and then starts walking away, hips swaying in a self-assured away.

Henriksen gulps. Not at the sight (_Big fat lie_, his mind supplies), but (also) at the thought of Moseley wanting to speak with him. He can't think of any reason why they should meet early in the morning, unless…unless Novak is involved.

He's dead.

* * *

.

.

He's not dead.

Not yet.

His will be a slow and painful torture.

He's going to beg for death to come to him before noon.

Missouri Moseley is sitting in her desk like some kind of mighty queen in her throne, observing the people in her office. She's the only one that looks even mildly composed.

Henriksen tries to swallow, but finds that his throat fails.

Bobby Singer is there, and so is Ellen Harvelle; he dimly remembers Rufus recounting the story of how the couple had caught a wild mountain lion with nothing but their bare hands. They look like they're about to whip out their shotguns and machetes.

And those three extra people must be Novak's family. The women's rage is plainly visible on their faces, and Henriksen suddenly imagines that they are the mythological harpies incarnate, ready to take his eyes out. The man behind them makes the Psycho song shriek in the back of his head.

Dean Winchester is on his boyfriend's right side, Jo Harvelle on the left side, and they're each resting a hand on his shoulders. They could be twin siblings, for all the identical murderous rage they've got plastered all over their faces.

Castiel gives him a simmering look.

There are so many things he can say right now. So many words to explain that he was just trying to help, that he was just being unknowingly stupid. That there's no reason to chop him up into tiny little cubes and feed him to the unsuspecting high school students.

But all that comes out is…

Well…

"Shit."

* * *

**A/N: Well shit, this story is posted as TBC! LOL!**

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**Please, do review! **


	14. Smiley Face

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XIV: THE ONE WHERE DEAN TRIES TO MAKE CAS HAPPY AGAIN**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Hi. Scisstor Sisters inspired this chapter. Don't ask. I regret nothing. Oh! Warning: not-very-explicit rimming. Yeah, bad chapter summary, I know. x)**

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Dean wakes up in the morning fresh-faced and with a wide grin.

What's there to be happy about? Well, it's Friday!

And no practice session tonight, either. Coach Henriksen gave the weekend off seeing as he is suffering from crushing humiliation.

The teenager had been absolutely furious when he managed to wheedle out of Cas what had been bothering him. At that moment, he had completely forgotten about how Henriksen was his favorite coach, and that the guy never really struck him as intolerant. No, all he had wanted to do was punch and shout and snarl and tear, because his boyfriend unhappy.

But then yesterday morning Henriksen managed to fend off everyone's impending vicious attack long enough to explain what was really going on. Which set off Bobby into one of his epic rants, cursing way too much for school grounds, and repeating the word "moron" at least thirty times. No "idjits" for him.

It had been all a big misunderstanding.

A really, really, embarrassingly (for the coach) stupid misunderstanding.

Ah well, no harm no foul.

Except, Cas is still in a bad mood. Dean kind of gets it. The pale teenager's been the one suffering silently for over a month now. But it's not like he got cowed into anything; he hangs out with the twins, chats around a pretty nice group of people between classes, and is besties with Meg.

He doesn't get that last part either.

But yeah, his boyfriend had been rather pissed off for the rest of Thursday. People actually walked the other way when they caught sight of him. Dean thinks everyone was overreacting. The guy was just frowning. He wasn't that scary.

After school Cas had just plopped himself next to the slowly wilting peony tree in his house's backyard and proceeded to attempt to stroke his cats until they were furless. Balthazar had grimaced, but managed to convince Dean to let him be, and just go home.

That night, they barely spoke one minute on the phone. The call was awkward, because Cas refused to fill the silence, and then he had whispered a gruff good night and hung up.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Dean is not going to stand for any more sourpuss moods.

So this morning Dean wakes up completely chipper, because whatever deity's looking out for him gave him a vision through his dreams.

He dreamt he had sex with Cas. Lots and lots of it. Everywhere.

Which okay, it may sound more like a teenager's perverted fantasy. BUT. But, nearing the end of the dream, Cas had turned into a happily smiling mess of sweat and body fluids. Dean woke up hearing his boyfriend's laughter echoing in his ears.

So, see? A vision.

A vision he's going to make a reality.

Oh yes, Dean is going to sex with Cas until the guy is smiling and laughing in that carefree way he did in the privacy of their rooms right before school started. He's got a feeling this will be a whole weekend project.

The things he does for his boyfriend.

"Dean, turn the fucking light off! It's five in the fucking morning!" Jo's sweet sleepy voice reprimands from the safety of the bed sheet cocoon she's made for herself.

Dean ignores her in favor of finishing lacing up his boots, and then fixing his hair in their mirror.

"Catch ya later later, alligator," he singsongs when he's finally finished a few minutes after, and all that can be seen is a slim hand poking out of the mounting of cloth and giving him the finger. "Love you too, babe," he answers before flicking the lights of their room off.

The blonde makes his way silently down the stairs and out of the house. He knows every trick step, every creaky floorboard and hinge of his home, and manages to avoid it all until he reaches outside.

It's impossible for the Impala to be quiet, so he turns the engine and guns his way out of the salvage yard before Ellen comes out to drag him back inside.

* * *

.

.

The Novak farmhouse easily camouflages with the shadows, but Dean doesn't need a flashlight to figure out where the front entrance is. Or how to pick the lock. Figured it all out the first time Cas showed him around.

What? He's a Winchester. Winchesters tend to do stuff like that.

Anyways, once inside, he makes the admittedly long trek upstairs, and down the hallway. His boyfriend's door is half-open, because he doesn't like closing it entirely unless there's someone sleeping on the bed with him. So Dean slips in, and presses on the door until it silently clicks shut.

His Cas is beautiful. The room's window is uncovered by the curtain, allowing his boyfriend to be bathed by the moonlight. He's laying face down at the moment, one arm under his head, the other stretched out towards the empty side of his bed. His head is turned that way too, and all Dean can see is the jet black shadows of his hair. The bed sheets are pulled down and tangled between his legs. The plain white shirt he likes to wear to bed is riding up, and there's this delicious piece of silvery skin just calling out to him.

Dean heeds the call.

He quickly removes his boots, and his leather jacket, and carefully climbs onto the unoccupied side of the king bed. King Bed. The blonde teenager can't help but imagine a dozen situations where a king-sized bed would be needed. Each one is kinkier than the last.

With an amused huff, he settles by the warm, sleeping body, the tips of his fingers finally coming into contact with the pale flesh. He strokes Cas's lower back, and he can feel goose bumps rising on his boyfriend's skin.

Then he switches his mouth for his hand. He places butterfly kisses on the skin, then nibbles softly, following it by quick swipes of the tongue. Cas's back twitches, a sleepy moan barely forming in his throat.

His fingers quickly find purchase on the sleeping pants' elastic, tips hooking and pulling the clothing down, revealing the sweet, supple flesh of his boyfriend's rear. Dean licks a long, wet stripe down the left pale globe, near the cleft, and the brunette takes in a sudden breath.

Eager to get this show on the road, Dean grabs both buttocks and spreads them, immediately settling himself for some serious (_ly _fun) work.

At the first real, rough probing stroke of the tongue, Cas gasps aloud. At the second one, he pushes his hips back and his spine arches wonderfully into the mattress. At the third one, he's sure those pretty blue eyes snap open and take in exactly what's going on.

The choked off "Dean?" makes him dig just a little bit deeper, and the moan that escapes his angel is just so freaking awesome. Dean pulls back far enough to say a cheery, "Morning, Cas!" before diving back in.

For the next few minutes, he continues to pay all of his special attention on Cas, making his boyfriend groan and writhe in so many delicious ways. A pale hand reaches out and tries to thread its fingers through the short blonde hairs of his head, and Dean hums, fingers digging deep into the soft derrière, nails leaving hazy pink trails on the pale skin.

"Dean," the brunette gasps out, "…this…this is—"

"A nice way to wake up in the morning?" Dean quips. When his boyfriend hisses out a heady "_yes,"_ the blonde reaches around the thrusting hips, and greedily re-conquers with his hands every single inch of the flushed, hot, hard flesh that he finds.

_Woohoo._

* * *

.

.

Aunt Ellen quirks a single eyebrow at Dean when he arrives to their kitchen at around seven in the morning, a slightly pink Cas in tow.

The sixteen-year-old shrugs.

The rest of the family trickles in after them, greeting Cas and settling down in the table to wolf down down the behemoth of pancakes and bacon that constitutes as breakfast in this household.

It's nice, being able to share with nearly all the people he cares about in an easy, light-hearted atmosphere. He grins, and stuffs his face full of bacon.

-0-0-0-0-0-

There is an accident with the maple syrup. Dean finds it impossible to explain exactly what happened. But it ended with Jo's hair getting drenched with the sticky mess.

Her roar of fury made the porcelain and the silverware on the table rattle.

So now Jo's taken over the bathroom, and Dean knows this will take forever, because if there is one thing his cousin is vain about, it's her hair. And with the girl's sudden agitation, Sammy remembered that he had a math test today, and is now holed up in his room, probably trying to cram the class's whole text book into his head in just twenty minutes.

Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen are both trying to get them to hurry up and get ready for school, because they only have a few minutes to leave the house if they ever want to reach their schools on time.

This is a perfect opportunity. The boyfriends hide themselves in the blonde's room, Dean deviously locking the door behind him. The _click _of the lock is loud enough to be heard over Bobby and Ellen's hollering, and Jo's screeching, and Sam's sudden despair.

Cas looks up from where he's seated on the edge of his bed, the metallic sound catching his attention. He finds Dean grinning mischievously at him.

"Make out time!" he announces with a grin, and Cas only has time to widen his eyes before Dean leaps off the ground, and tackles him down into the bouncing bed and swallows eagerly his every breath.

* * *

.

.

They drop off Sam at his middle school, and the Impala parks in the high school student's lot just two minutes before the bell rings, and all three teenagers clamber out of the car.

Jo immediately shoots off for her homeroom on the other side of the school, and before Cas can do the same thing, Dean yanks him back to him.

"Dean, wha—"

But the blonde doesn't let him talk as he lands a smacking wet kiss on his lips.

"Dean—"

Another kiss.

"Dea—"

Kiss, kiss.

"We're going to be late," Cas protests, but it all comes out muffled because Dean is still raining quick little kisses on his mouth. He doesn't stop until his boyfriend melts down, resting his right hand on his upper left arm, catching the last swift peck and turning it into something both slower and softer.

Only then does he let go.

The bell rings, but Dean doesn't care because Cas is taking the initiative and hooking his arms behind his neck and pulling him into an incredibly heavy kiss. His already bruised lips part eagerly to allow his boyfriend's delicious tongue to plunder his mouth.

* * *

.

.

Dean is the first student to slip out of his class as soon as the lunch bell rings. He races down the halls and up the stairs until he reaches the boys' bathrooms by the library. It's the perfect hiding place, because it's right by where Cas passes through as he follows the rest of the stampeding students towards the cafeteria.

He peers through the tiny crack he allows between the door and the frame and searches patiently for his boyfriend. He needs to find someone with black sneakers, dark jeans, a huge navy blue knit sweater, wild black hair, and a huge hickey blossoming on a pale neck.

_Gotcha._

As quick as lighting, he snakes an arm out, grabs the back of Cas's sweater and yanks at him. The seventeen-year-old gives a squawk of surprise, but no one really notices, their minds too focused on the enchiladas the school's serving today.

Castiel splutters as he stumbles in the bathroom, absolutely confused. But then he catches sight of Dean's reflection in the mirror and he turns around immediately to face him.

"Dean?" he asks, but the blonde doesn't answer as he gets close to Cas again, grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him into the big bathroom stall. They stare at each other for a few seconds, before Dean quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

Then he's falling to his knees and unbuttoning the dark jeans and pulling down the zipper and—

Cas's sudden gasp and subsequent moans are so loud that he has to slip his thick fingers into that pretty, plump mouth to muffle it all.

* * *

.

.

_Did you know that a Reverse Cowboy is when the person sits on your penis, facing away from you, and rides you like a pony from here 'til kingdom __**cums**__?_

Cas's crimson red flush is adorable as he reads the little message Dean scribbled on a piece of paper. They're in US History class, and his boyfriend is sitting on the desk in front of him.

_I'd like to try it on you._

He writes on another piece of paper, and pushes it over Cas's shoulder. When he hears the brunette gasp quietly, he writes another message.

_Or you could try it on me. Either way, I bet it'll be fun. _

"Dean!" Castiel chokes off, trying to not attract the teacher's attention.

_Ever heard of pile-driving?_

His boyfriend makes an undecipherable sound in the back of his throat, before slamming his forehead unto his desk table.

* * *

.

.

In chemistry—the second class of the day and the first one he shares with Jo—Dean begged his cousin to call Becky—who gets out of her high school (thank _God_ she's not in the same district) a half hour earlier—and have her pick her up and go out bowling, or something. She bitch-faced at him until he handed her forty bucks.

In the five minutes between chemistry and English, Dean called Sammy—who answered with the whiniest _"Dean, what the hell? I'm in school!" _ever—and convinced him to spend the day after school with Garth. After he promised him tickets to next month's Repo! The Genetic Opera midnight viewing. He so handing those over in a clown gift bag.

Anyways, the point is that now that school's let out for the week, he has a few hours free with Cas in his own home, cause Aunt Ellen's manning The Roadhouse and Uncle Bobby is on the next county over, and they won't be around until at least seven in the evening.

He presses on the pedal a bit harder.

When they get to the Salvage Yard, Dean almost breaks his house key in half in his hurry to try and open the door. Castiel is shaking besides him, and he knows it's for the same reason that's got him so high-strung.

Anticipation.

As soon as they're able to spill through the doorway, Cas darts across the small foyer and begins pumping up the staircase. Dean gives chase and manages to catch him around the waist halfway up the steps.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs right there, and Dean doesn't really care anymore. It's a semi-horizontal position.

It'll do.

* * *

.

.

Dean scrabbles to find some kind of purchase on the wall besides his bed, as he rests the side of his face and naked chest against the rough wallpaper.

Cas drapes his pale body all over his back and slithers his hands around his arms and threads long fingers with his own.

And oh, this feels so good. Dean pushes his lower half backwards as Castiel pushes his own forwards.

The blonde hisses and the brunette groans and _hoo-boy_, neither are going to last long at the pace they're going.

* * *

.

.

In his defense, when Bobby comes in demanding why the electric bill is so damn high next month, Dean can say that the hot shower was all Cas's idea.

* * *

.

.

Uncle Bobby is the first to arrive. And the man walks in calling out to see who's home.

They answer from over in the living room, where they're innocently watching TV.

The older man narrows his eyes at them.

"Get the hell out of my house," he growls.

"Will do, sir," Dean answers quickly, putting on the leather jacket that had been resting on the back of the couch.

"Damn idjits," he mutters.

"Yes we are, sir," Cas says as he stuffs his feet into his shoes again.

They're out of the property in two minutes, flat.

The Rolling Stones jam on the cassette player for the first fifteen minutes that they're out wandering around on the road, before Castiel reaches out and turns down the volume.

"Dude! No touching the music. We've been over this."

"I've just remembered that Uncle Balthazar told me he was taking Vivi and Xica out to an opera concert over in the metro area.

Dean stares at his boyfriend for ten full seconds.

"What the hell, man!" he exclaims as he slams on the breaks.

"What?"

"You could've told me this like, hours ago!" he answers as he executes a messy three-point turn.

"I forgot!"

"We've been wasting gas and time, Cas! Time, Cas, time! We could've been pile-driving on your bed right now, you know."

"Dean!"

"Just sayin'."

* * *

.

.

Dean Winchester wakes up in the morning fresh-faced and with a wide grin.

What's there to be happy about? Well, it's Saturday!

Day two.

* * *

**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	15. Brotherly Moments

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XV: THE ONE WHERE SAM AND DEAN SHARE A BROTHERLY MOMENT**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: The chapter's title says it all. :)**

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Dean gets home Sunday evening with a tired limp and set to his shoulders, but a very satisfied smirk in his face.

He got Cas to guffaw. _Guffaw. _With _tears _streaming down his face.

Booyah, muthaluva.

Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby are in the leaving room, where this old lady is firing a .50 caliber machine gun at some guy in a black car.

Romantic movie night, then.

The sixteen-year-old trudges up the stairs, unable to stop the smile that spreads as he passes through the halfway mark.

Up in the second floor, he hears a rather unpleasant sound pouring through the entrance to Sam's room.

Indie Pop.

Ugh.

He stands by his brother's door frame, and catches the younger boy splayed diagonally on his bed, head by the foot, reading some beat up paperback.

"Yo, kiddo!" he greets, allowing himself to cross into Sammy's territory.

"Hi, Dean," the boy mumbles distractedly.

The blonde teenager rests a knee on the mattress, and ruffles his brother's brown locks. While the thirteen-year-old protests in indignation, the older brother hauls himself into the bed and lands over his baby brother's body.

From the air, it would look like a mentally challenged "X".

"Dean!" Sam squeals, "Get off! You're heavy! Heavy! Can't breathe!"

"Alright, alright!" Dean quickly gives up, rolling himself to the side as Sam straightens himself to make space for his huge sibling. "There see, princess? No more evil big brother squashing your delicate body."

"Thank you," he says pointedly, and Dean just sticks out his tongue.

A comfortable settles afterwards, as Sam goes back to his paperback, and Dean just stares at the ceiling, trying to fight the pull of sleep.

The previous weird song coming from the MP3 finishes, and a newer, even more pathetic song starts playing.

"Ew, man. What is that thing playing on the machine?"

"It's music, Dean. Not everyone's stuck in the seventies, you know."

"Shut up, I listen to some new stuff, too. But this is just wrong. Why would I want to set the world on fire?"

"It's Fun., Dean."

"You pyromaniac freak."

"No, Dean," Sam sighs heavily, putting the book down and looking back at his brother whose head is resting on the pillows, "The band that plays this song is called Fun. Capital F, period at the end."

"Seriously?"

" Yes, seriously."

"That is so _gay_."

At this, Sam just closes the book and tosses it on the floor.

"Dude. You have a _boy_friend."

"Dude. I could be having sex with Cas in a field of flowers with unicorns galloping around us and it still wouldn't be as gay as this band and its music."

"You jerk."

"Bitch," Dean answers automatically. A small huff of laughter escapes both of them.

The older brother sighs and tries to remember Sammy as a newborn, sleeping in the center of a motel bed, with him and Dad curled around his tiny body, trying to protect him.

Just in case.

It's always just in case, with the family. They really are a bunch of paranoid freaks.

Comes with the territory, the blonde guesses.

"Dean?" Sam's voice is a little unsure as he changes positions and sits cross-legged by his hip. He frowns, wondering what causes the change.

"Hm?"

"Do you, uh, do you really…um…with Cas?"

"Do I really what? Have sex with Cas?" At Sammy's nod, Dean rolls his eyes. "Well, _yeah_. Cas is my boyfriend."

"Oh," he says softly, and looks down at his knees.

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asks, setting his voice in that tone that shows Sam that he won't take no for an answer.

"It's just. Everyone at school is going on and on about abstinence, and the Christian Club for Jesus or whatever keeps saying how wonderful virginity is and yeah, Bobby gave me the talk when I was ten but it was awkward as all hell, and—"

"Hey, hey, hey, woah. Calm down, kid." Dean sits up and rests a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. Sammy's worrying his lip now. "It's confusing, isn't it?" he begins softly. "What the school says is right and wrong, what we tell you is right and wrong…" Sam nods. "You do realize that we're not a normal family, right?"

"Yes, Dean. I kind of realized it when Uncle Bobby made me strip down his favorite Glock and put it back together again while reciting the American Constitution. In German. When I was nine."

"You lucky; he made me do it when I was eight."

"Dean…"

"Yeah, yeah, back to the topic…. Look man, you know I'm not the best guy to be giving advise like this, I mean, you know I'm no saint." Sam snorts. "But I can tell you that I informed myself as best as I could. My first time wasn't some ignorant fumbling in the dark. Well, yeah, it actually _was_ in the dark, and there _was_ a lot of fumbling. But it wasn't ignorant. You should do the same. Inform yourself, I mean. About everything. About doing it with girls, doing it with guys, doing it with a bunch of people or with your pets—"

"Ew!"

"That shit's real, Sammy, so don't pretend it doesn't exist. Research the hell out of that. Ooh, and don't forget hentai. They've got tentacles." He wiggles his eyebrows at the last part.

"There's something seriously wrong with you, Dean."

Dean barks out a laugh. "There's always been something seriously wrong with me, little brother."

Sam laughs at that as well, but it dies down quickly.

"They keep showing how abstinence is just this great awesome thing, and if you give in life turns horrible, and the next thing you know, your girlfriend's pregnant, you don't finish school, and you end up working in a fast food restaurant. I hate fast food restaurants, Dean."

"Yeah, that scenario does sound kind of nasty, doesn't it? But that shit's like a one in a million possibility. Look, some people want to wait. Good for them. Some people don't. Good for us too. It's all just a matter of being mentally prepared, Sam. Forget those creepy health class videos, man. They'll rot your brain and it'll leak through your ears."

They both giggle at the mental image of that.

"Sex can be fun, you know? Like earlier, me and Cas were—"

"Wait, wait, wait!"

"What?"

"You had sex earlier?

"_Yyyyeah_…"

Sam gives him a long, disturbed look. Like he suspects something horrible is up but still has to ask. "Did you shower?"

"There wasn't any time for—"

"OH MY GOD! GET OFF MY BED!" Sam shrieks, hands and feet shoving at his massive body, trying to get him off.

"What? Sammy—"

"OFF OFF OFF!"

"Sex is a natural act, Sammy!" Dean hollers, laughing even when he lands sprawled on the floor. "Semen is a part of life!"

"OH GROSS!" And Sam is scrambling over to his night table, opening the drawer and grabbing on to something.

"Spunk keeps the face clear of acne—wait what's that on your hand?" Dean immediately stops teasing, because what Sam is holding in his hand looks suspiciously like a can of—

"Lysol Disinfectant for Gross Brothers like you!"

"Get that thing away from me."

"No."

"Sam, I'm warning you."

His little brother ignores him completely, and just presses on the nozzle. A pure white cloud of Evil sprays out of the can, and Dean tries to scramble out of the way, but he's not fast enough.

"ACK! SAM! IT'S IN MY MOUTH! STOP IT!"

"NO!" Sam hollers and continues liberating the disinfectant into the general vicinity of Dean's face. The blonde twitches uncontrollably as he tries to get out of the room.

"MY EYES!"

"IT'S YOUR OWN FAULT!"

* * *

**TBC**

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**A/N: Yay! Two chapters in one day!**

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	16. Winning Nationals

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: Modified my story's summary. Thank you GoForTehGig for that awesome line!**

**A/N: Casismyfavorite: Thanks for all your reviews! **

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XVI: THE ONE WHERE DEAN WINS NATIONALS**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Dat feeling. lol! SUPER FILLER CHAPTER UP AHEAD! You've been warned.**

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In the next few seconds, the sound fades from Dean's ears, and everything he sees slows down to a crawl.

He's hyperaware of the blood in his veins, rushing with wild abandon. His lungs are forcing more air into his system, and his muscles are burning in sweet exhaustion. There are rivulets of sweat dripping down his face and neck, catching on his football helmet and uniform collar.

There's Josh and Rick just ahead of him. They're in mid-air, chests puffed out proudly, just inches away of smashing against each other. Over by the sidelines, there's Jo, pretty wavy hair floating in the air as she's caught in a wine-red twirl.

There's glitter pouring from the sky. It's red and silver, the pieces thick and rectangular. Dean reckons he can count each and every piece as they make their way to the ground around him.

_We've won_, Dean thinks. _We've won Nationals._

A piece of glitter nearly lands in his eye, and he reflexively swipes a dirty gloved hand across the closed lids.

The roar of the audience, the incomprehensible band music, and the excited cheering of the cheerleaders all explodes back to him in a wild cacophony. When he opens his eyes again, time seems to speed back up to normal. His teammates crash against each other, arms clasping each other's torsos as they reach the ground again. Jo's twirl ends with her bumping into Meg, and they wind their arms around their shoulders, mutual dislike forgotten, in order to do an impromptu Can-Can.

Some of his other teammates side-tackle him, and grab his helmet to clash their heads together. Dean laughs, and hollers, and repeats the "_We are the champions_!" chorus that is being chanted by half of the stadium.

He just played in a college stadium. And he won.

They won Nationals.

That same sense of surrealism hits him again, and his eyes wander away from the field. His green eyes search the stands frantically, the tunnel vision created by his helmet a frustration. He rips it off, lets it hang from the tips of his fingers, as he begins to look again.

And there's his family. Ellen and Sam are jumping up and down on their seats, and Bobby's got his fingers in his mouth, obviously whistling. And there's Dad, _Dad, _his hands high above him, clapping like a wild man. Their _whoops_ of joy mix in with the other hundreds of voices.

And right beside his cheering father is Castiel. Leaning heavily against the rails, hands gripping it tightly. There's a wild, happy smile on his face. He can feel how their eyes manage to lock, even from the distance, and Cas raises his arms, hands giving him a thumbs up.

A new wave of giddiness hits him, and he can't stop his shout of triumph and laughter that erupts from him.

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**TBC**

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**I ain't even gonna ask for reviews for this one. x)**


	17. John Winchester

**DISCLAIMER: Not Mine.**

**A/N: So here's a baby picture of Jo: /gag/5603013?**

**It's so funny in my head when I apply it to a fictional character. But then reality crashes into my brain and I get sad for the little girl. You'll see when you follow the link. **

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XVII: THE ONE WHERE WE GET JOHN WINCHESTER'S POV**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: FINALLY! The publishing of this chapter felt like unclogging the plot-line's drain...if that made any sense. LOL! Anyways, here you get a few thoughts from John Winchester. To be honest, he scares me a bit, and I barely skimmed his character in this chapter because I really don't know how to write him. Also: WARNINGS: Mentions of teenage drinking and overdosage of sleep-aid medication. ENJOY!**

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John Winchester isn't very proud of many things in his life. Most of the decisions he's made have later been the cause of some degree of regret.

Not his sons, though. No, Dean and Sam are the two things he is the proudest of. And on certain occasions in his life, the only things he's been proud of.

He loves every little achievement they've managed throughout their lives, loves the bond they have with each other and just how much they remind him of his Mary.

Even at four years old, John could tell that Sammy was a smart kid, very aware of the world around him, and mentally devouring every single scrap of knowledge he was willing to give his son. It didn't surprise him that just a few months after coming to live in the permanent location of Singer's home, the boy had joined a soccer team. And now that he's finishing middle school, he isn't surprised at the list of endless clubs he's joined, at how many books he's reading at the same time, or of how quickly he's picking up foreign languages.

His youngest son is a genius. What isn't there to be proud of?

And Dean, his eldest. The one with hair and eyes just like his mother's. Dean isn't as academically versed as his younger brother, but he's still scary smart. Incredibly observant and capable of analyzing information lightning quick. He can find a weak spot admittedly faster than him. And that could be because he's getting old, but John likes to think the boy's actually that good.

He's always secretly admired how uncaring his son is of the opinions of others. John managed to learn to not care just a couple years after having Sammy. But Dean, Dean could feel like wearing panties one day and he'll do just that, and most likely laugh at the outraged expressions of the little old ladies if he bends over and the lingerie manages to show.

And while his reaction had been kind of bad, he really wasn't surprised when his son told him he likes boys, too. He probably got curious one day and decided to try it out and found out he liked it. Simple as that. No long nights of agonizing over the shame or whatever.

John shouldn't have been surprised when he called by satellite phone one day and Dean had all but burst out that he had a boyfriend. Of course he had a _boy_friend. His son likes boys. But yeah, the news had shocked him, and he had choked his way through the rest of the call in a daze.

He may or may not have gone into an existential crisis in the middle of the Amazon rainforest.

But he'd gathered himself enough to make an effort and inquire about the well being of "Castiel-but-I-call-him-Cas-cause-Castiel's-a-mouthful-but-you-can-call-him-by-his-full-name-if-you-want" the next time he called. And, despite not understanding why his son is attracted to his own gender, his heart warmed a little when he discovered that the relationship had passed the three months mark.

John had been interrogating a rather important key member of a certain terrorist group, inside the freezing underground tunnels of a military ghost base in a corner of Russia that technically doesn't exist, when one of the new members of his organization—_Dean could so totally beat their asses, _he thinks—hands him a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled message.

_Colonel Harvelle wants you States side. Your son got into the Football Nationals. _

He renews his interrogation with a wide and proud smile on his face.

He may have looked a little psychotic. The newbies may have avoided him a bit after that.

No matter, his son got into Nationals.

Dean was obviously not expecting to see his father when he arrived at the hotel his high school team was staying in. The boy had just come from an intense practice session, and he looked the very picture of exhaustion. But when those green eyes caught sight of him, all the tiredness in his body evaporated. Instead, a kind of overexcited happiness seemed to take over, and John had a flashback of his son's squealing laughter when he was just two years old and he and Mary lived in a small two-bedroom apartment.

The teenager introduced him to all of his friends, and to the cheerleaders, and to Castiel.

Castiel. The kid didn't appear to be physically remarkable, but the look in his blue eyes was very intense. Castiel was very solemn, very serious. He kept an even tone and economized every action he performed. Completely different from his Dean, who was very loud, and very boisterous, his laughter easily heard by everyone around.

But he stood very close to his son, as if he had always belonged by Dean's side, and Dean seemed to welcome the presence.

During the game the day afterwards, John learned a bit more about Castiel Novak. Even as he clapped and smiled for the players and the cheerleaders, he managed to still look somehow subdued. Bobby and Ellen and Sam all acted like it was normal behavior but John couldn't help but wonder.

What could his son and this boy ever have in common? Should Dean be so serious about a relationship with a boy who's on the opposite end of the spectrum from him?

The answer comes thirty minutes before the high school team is supposed to leave the hotel for the airport, so that they can return to Sioux Falls.

John gets off the elevator on the third floor, and comes face to face with a mess of male teenagers rushing from one room to another, trying to finish their packing, but getting easily distracted by the most random of things. He finds Bobby in what looks to be—by the giant tiger felt head on the bed—the team mascot's room, yelling at the poor chubby kid to finish up before he's left behind.

"You seen Dean, Bobby?" John interrupts.

"Cheerleaders, fourth floor," the older man growls and Dean's father slinks out of the room before he calls too much attention to himself.

When he reaches the floor above, he doesn't know whether to just escape back to the elevators or man up and face the giant wall of giggling teenage estrogen. Because apparently, these girls finished packing early, and had all piled into the common space to braid each other's hair. Literally. They were twisting their long blonde strands into dozens of braids as they gossiped or something.

"Can we help you?" There is one girl with brown hair falling in pretty curls around her shoulders as she lounges back in a big sofa. She looks like their leader.

John startles out of the uneasy stance he had fallen in at discovering the female group. He notices now that all the girls had stopped their excited chattering to stare at him as well.

"My son, Dean. He here?" That's it John, go straight to the point and get out before they giggle at you to death.

The brunette's strange dark eyes widen, and then this smirk just crawls its way across her heart-shaped face.

"You're Dean's daddy?" she asks in a low drawl, taking him in from head to toe, "I can see the resemblance." The blondes all giggle brightly.

"Thanks, but is he here with you guys?"

"As much as the thought of having the Dean Winchester trapped in our moisturized clutches," the other cheerleaders interrupt by giggling loudly and sighing. "Mm, that is a nice thought, isn't it girls?"

John's eye twitches.

"I need to know where my son is—"

"Meg."

"What?"

"My name," she says around a self-indulgent smile, "it's Meg."

"Well Meg, can you tell me where Dean is?" he flattens his voice, and while the other pretty girls quiet down, _Meg _just lets loose a throaty chuckle.

"Alright, alright. He's with Clarence, _Mr. Winchester."_

Finally, an answer.

"Ok. Good. Thanks," he turns around to go look for this Clarence, when he realizes that…"And who is Clarence, again?"

Another girl speaks up, her voice bubbly, "That's Meg's nickname for Castiel." And at that pronouncement, everyone giggles _yet again._

"Oh-kay…And where is Castiel?"

"Oh, he's in his room up in the fifth floor," the same girl answers.

"Alrighty then," he finishes, and leaves as fast as he can, not caring that he doesn't know the boy's room number.

He's only just starting to wander down the halls of the fifth floor when a blonde and a brunette step out of room 521. Only they're not the blonde and brunette he's looking for, although it's pretty close. It's Jo Harvelle and his youngest son.

There's a strange glint in her eye, and a sort of desperation on the set of Sammy's shoulders. The petite girl gets close to the boy and starts talking in hushed, hurried tones as they unknowingly walk towards him.

"We need to find that coffee Sam, that decaf shit they've got in the room ain't gonna—woah! It's John! John Winchester! Your daddy Sammy! Will you look at that! Hi Uncle John! How's it been?" Her sudden obvious change of topic has left her squealing, the smile and her brown eyes way too wide to be considered innocent.

"Where's Dean?"

"Who?"

"Dean, Joanna Beth! Dean! The boy you've shared a room with for almost a decade?" he growls and that has the intended effect on both teenagers.

Jo babbles a hasty, "Oh! _That_ Dean! He's on the third floor," at the same time that Sammy squeaks out, "He's helping Coach Henriksen in the parking lot!"

John levels a glare on the children that is so intense, that Sam just gives up. His shoulders slump and he points back to the room they had stepped out from. "He's in there," he mumbles, head hung to stare at his shoes.

The older man lets off a huff through his nose, like a bull, and stalks his way between the teenagers and down the hall to reach 521. He can hear AC/DC's "Back in Black" getting louder the closer he gets. When his fist rises to pound on the door, Jo slithers into the tiny space between his body and the room's closed entrance. The tip of her nose brushes the tip of his chin just slightly, and the rushed breaths she exhales blows hot air on his neck.

"Hi," her blurred figure whispers awkwardly. He steps back exactly one inch, in order to see her a bit more clearly. He's getting very annoyed right now. They're hiding something, and he's going to find out one way or another.

"Joanna," he says, his tone warning that there will be dire consequences if she continues getting in the way. The blonde girl gulps audibly, but refuses to move.

"You don't wanna go in there," she cautions, eyes going a bit wild, and before he can ask 'Why the hell not?' she explains with a slight shake to her voice, "They are having so much gay sex right now."

John rears back a step at that. There are many things about his kid he'd love to be involved in, but his sex life is certainly not one of them.

"Yeah," Jo continues babbling, "Every single gay porn movie you may have ever seen could never prepare you for the things that those two are doing to each other. It's…it's just obscene."

John's left eye starts to twitch. Ugh, the visuals! But he knows this is all Jo's attempt at keeping him away. There's no way Dean would do something with Sammy in the same room. He half-turns his body to look at his youngest. Sam's face is twisted in a grimace, like what Jo is saying is too much for his virgin imagination. But there's no haunted look in his face, not like there would be if he'd seen anything too damaging. He knows his son too well.

"Harvelle," he growls as he turns back to the girl, "do you have a key to this room?"

"Um…"

"Do you?"

The teenage girl visibly deflates. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Then give it to me."

"But—"

"I don't care what you say my son and his…his…Castiel…are doing in there. I'm going in."

They stare at each other for just a bit longer, until Jo looks down, digs her hands into the front pocket of her jeans, and manages to produce a simple white keycard with the hotel's logo on it. The exchange is silent, her eyes not meeting his. When he's in possession of the card, he moves back to allow her moving space. As soon as he does, she's like quicksilver in his sight.

One moment she's resting most of her weight against the room's door, the next she's a blur of movement down the hallway. He catches sight of his son next to the elevators, holding the door to the stairway open for his cousin. And as soon as she darts in, he follows, the door closing by its own weight.

"Huh," he says, the word lost in the echoes of Back In Black's last lyrics.

He turns back to the door. This is not his room. He should knock first. It's only proper. Moreover, Dean and Castiel might not have been doing anything with Jo and Sam in the room, but they're alone now. Something obscene could definitely be happening now.

It doesn't matter. He's John Winchester. He eats barbed wire and babies for breakfast. A little glimpse of a carnal demonstration of the affection his son has for another boy is not going to affect him. Besides, his son is supposed to leave in less than an hour and then he's not seeing his boys until at least spring.

He still screws his eyes shut when he unlocks the door and lets it swing open. As AC/DC's guitar fades away though, he hears a sound that he was definitely not expecting:

The unmistakable, painfully universal human sound of retching immediately followed by the sound of thick, chunky fluids hitting the water inside a porcelain toilet.

That snaps his eyes wide open. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he moves to the door immediately on his right, and finds himself in the room's bathroom that absolutely stinks of vomit. On his right is a long, double sink counter, on his left, is the shower still wet from recent use, and at the end, separated by a small section of wall, is the toilet/bidet combo.

And there is Castiel, hunched over the kneeling figure of Dean, holding his son up by his underarms, as the kid keeps spewing the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When the boy's finally done, Castiel flushes the contents, then pulls Dean up and against him, and shifts him so that he's carrying most of his weight.

Dean's face and neck are blotchy red, and his eyes are screwed shut as he fists his boyfriend's shirt with a white-knuckled grip. Castiel stumbles only slightly under the swaying mass, before he makes a move to start making his way out of the bathroom. That's when his eyes suddenly come in contact with John.

The older man sees him startle at the sudden appearance of a man in his room. But then he both calms down and becomes even more guarded when he realizes that it's Dean's father and not some random axe murderer.

"Mr. Winchester," he states, and wow, the voice that drags out of his throat is the most gravelly he's ever heard. The pale kid pulls his son closer when he gives a small moan.

"What's wrong, Dean?" John demands, wanting to move closer to his son but hesitating for some reason at the look Castiel sends his way.

"Dad?" Dean mumbles out and, his face rising a centimeter from where it had been resting against Castiel's dark hair. His green eyes open and John can see how glassy they are. "Hey Dad," he continues, giving him a sloppy smile and giggle, before swaying heavily in his boyfriend's embrace.

John stares at Dean for a while. Deeming him incapable of speaking coherently at the moment, the elder Winchester moves back to Castiel. He raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

Castiel stares at him for longer than feels comfortable, then answers in a grumbling voice, "Bad choice at the All You Can Eat Buffett last night. Food poisoning."

"Here Goosey Goosey," Dean continues, his voice going high-pitched. He gives one belly-produced "Ha!" before he's back to screwing his eyes shut and groaning into the side of Castiel's face. "'Ma puk—" he interrupts himself with a rather violent hiccup.

Castiel utters a curse, then practically throws Dean back to the toilet, and shoves his head inside the bowl just in time for his son to let lose another round of vomit.

John watches the scene. As he takes in the care with which the pale kid treats his son, his mind is processing the information he's been offered. The irrational part of him still stuck in the past wants to go to Dean and carry him back to the bed, and rub his tummy and sing a lullaby until the kid is off in dreamland. But a greater part of him rationalizes the evidence and comes up with a different answer to the events unfolding right in front of him.

"That's not food poisoning," he counters, as Steppenwolf's "Sookie, Sookie" starts playing from over the beds. The song manages to drown out Dean's spewing just the tiniest of bits.

Castiel looks up from stroking Dean's hair and glares at John. And he doesn't know what the glare is for, exactly. Because he doesn't believe Castiel's diagnostic? Or because he hasn't yet started cooing and awww-ing over his "sick" son?

"It's not food poisoning," he continues, matter of fact, "because last night, you shared the same foods from the same plates." And they really did. It was a little cute, watching them share a plate of tater tots and another one of corn nuggets. It was a whole other thing watching them feed each other ribs.

The older man watches Castiel as the pale boys heaves a sigh, then goes back to focusing on Dean. He's whispering meaningless encouraging words into his ear as his breaths start calming down.

"Do you really want me to say it?" he dares. Both to Dean and Castiel. There's a reason he's not running over to that end of the bathroom. Dean did this to himself. His son moans. Castiel's hackles rise. "Dean is drunk off his mind."

After that resounding declaration, Dean just sort of sags to the side, taking Castiel with him, and they're both kind of leaning against the wall, and neither of the teenagers are paying attention to him. Dean because he's obviously too drunk, and Castiel because he's trying to tug Dean back into an upright position.

A few pushes and pulls later, Castiel just heaves another massive sigh and slumps back against the wall. "Yes, you're right, Mr. Winchester. Dean's incredibly intoxicated. Now could you please just help me get him off this floor and over to a bed?"

John rolls his eyes but does as asked, carrying his son all the way to the king bed as Castiel finishes cleaning the bathroom. Once the kid's done, he comes back and sits by Dean, and his son shifts to just nuzzle his face into his jean-clad thigh. Castiel makes a barely audible tsk-ing sound, but lets his hand thread its fingers through the blonde hair.

The heavy silence that follows leaves his heart aching. Aching for his sons, to fit in his lap and within the circle of his arms again. Aching for his wife, whose perfume he swears he still catches a whiff of, every now and then.

He clears his throat.

"Care to explain to me why my son is stinking drunk at ten in the morning?"

When Castiel answers, John flinches. He actually flinches. Because going back to the conversation at the beginning, there are a lot of things John's not proud of. But why does he flinch at this very moment in time? Because his son's boyfriend is informing him of Dean's dislike of heights and airplanes.

A dislike he knows stems from the fact that he made the incredibly stupid decision of taking his son skydiving when he was only six years old.

Yeah, not his best moment as a father (understatement).

* * *

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.

"_Daddy!" Dean shouted as best he could from his spot right beside John. The motor of the plane they were flying in was incredibly loud._

_The small blonde boy gave him a gap-toothed smile when he looked down, a smile he found himself immediately returning._

"_What are we doing, Daddy?"_

_John had smiled wide, and laughed loudly. "We're going to fly, son!"_

_Dean squealed in laughter. And giggled as he got strapped tight to his father. _

_Three minutes later, John heard his son's first shrieks of horror. _

_And not because jumping off the plane had scared him, but because when it was time to deploy the parachute, the thing just didn't open._

_The ground kept rushing up to meet them, and John's cursing kept getting louder as Dean screamed himself into a full panic. _

_Finally, the parachute unfurled very close to the ground. It caused them to crash painfully, and they began to roll over and over again, limbs getting bent at wrong angles and bruises blossoming on their splitting skin. _

_At the end, when they stopped moving, and the father ended up on his back, staring up at the dust-clouds floating around them, heaving and choking as his little boy shook and sobbed out his terror, John realized that had probably been the worst decision he had ever made. Ever._

* * *

_._

_._

John chooses not to explain exactly why Dean's scared of heights, and by extension, planes. Instead, he looks down in shame, as Castiel tells the story of how he found his boyfriend not twenty minutes ago clutching at a nearly empty bottle of vodka in an attempt to settle his nerves. He doesn't meet the kid's eyes as he continues explaining how he had taken a triple dosage of ZzzQuil just as he left the Singer house for the airport a few days before.

What John Winchester does choose to do, is own up to the fact that this is pretty much his fault.

He leaves the room and goes back down to the third floor, finds Bobby and tells him he's taking Sammy and his son, and his son's boy with him on his truck, and that he'll drive them back to Sioux Falls. Bobby just raises an eyebrow but nods, and says he'll deal with Henriksen. John promises to refund the school for Dean's missed flight.

It takes the Winchester clan, plus the one Novak, another hour to finish packing, and declaring Dean's stomach settled enough for there to be a very low chance of in-car puking.

It's John who carefully folds his son into the back of his double-cabin truck, as Castiel climbs in through the other side, and Sam takes up shotgun. Before he closes the door to Dean's side, he looks up and stares at this strange, pale kid who's willing to take care of his son, idiotic decisions and all.

Castiel stares back, those blue eyes shimmering like sea glass in the shadows of the truck.

"Thank you," he finds himself whispering. The phrase escapes from his mouth without permission, but it is absolutely sincere.

Castiel looks down at Dean's dozing face, then back up at him. "I'll be completely incapable of scolding him for his foolish behavior. Quite the opposite, I'm sure that I'll coddle him all the way through his hangover. So you'll have to deal with that. And you can't leave his side until he promises he won't ever drink like that again. And for some reason his actions are making you act guilty. So you better apologize for whatever it is."

John can feel his face and neck heat up in a flush. He tears his gaze away from the teenager's to find Sammy twisted around to stare at him through the space between the front seats. There's a smug smile hiding behind his hand, he knows.

He coughs, and closes the door to Dean's side. Right before he opens the driver's side door to climb in, he pauses, stares at the gleaming top of his truck.

Castiel and Dean are gonna last forever.

A small smile uncontrollably steals across his face, and he huffs a small breath of laughter.

* * *

**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW! THANKS!**


	18. Shameless Self-indulgence

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: Hello! Another chapter! Yosh! **

**Dear CASISMYFAVORITE: Thank you for your continued support by reviewing! And GUEST reviewer: thanks for doing so as well! I appreciate all of your words!**

**"He eats barbed wire and babies for breakfast" is a quote from the X-Men fic We Don't Believe In Chance by Fyrefly. Highly recommend the series. You guys should check it out. Like really. The OC in this story breaks the MarySue mold until there's nothing left but dust that gets blown in the wind.**

**OH! And for anyone interested who wasn't able to see the link with "Jo's baby picture," just type , and then copy paste the rest of the link that appears on last chapter. **

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XVIII: THE ONE WHERE THE AUTHOR SHAMELESSLY SELF-INDULGES IN DESTIEL FLUFF**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: I like my chapter title. Anyways, here are some brief flashes of  
Dean and Cas spending their day together on a Sunday. Aaagghh! Jesus Christ on a unicycle, but I do love Destiel. Enjoy!**

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"WOAH!" Dean cries out, rearing back violently and slamming his arm over his face to protect himself from the sudden visual onslaught.

"Oh!" Balthazar Novak says, in a pleasantly surprised tone, from his perch on the kitchen counter. He had been enjoying his morning tea just as Dean walked into the kitchen. "Hello, Dean. You here for Cassy, yeah?"

"Umm…yeah…we…church…yeah…," the blonde teenager mumbles out while staring out towards the kitchen table. His face flushes crimson red and he clears his throat loudly.

"You alright, Dean my boy?" the older man asks jovially.

"Uh...uh-huh! Yeah! Everything's…cool," he squeaks out. Because everything's not cool at all.

Why the hell is Cas's uncle naked?

In the kitchen?

Sitting on the kitchen counter?

Footsteps thunder down the stairs and quickly move across the house. Castiel appears suddenly, at the kitchen's entrance. And Dean, in a thoughtless moment, turns to see his boyfriend. Only, Balthazar comes into his line of sight again and he catches the man shifting to unstick the flesh from the marble counter.

"Ergh!" Dean chokes out and immediately turns back around.

"Uncle Balthazar," Castiel begins, rushing across the kitchen and grabbing hold of Dean's hand. The blonde clutches at it, and Castiel tugs his boyfriend out as fast as he can. "Dean and I will be going to his home after church today. Please don't wait for me."

"Knock yourself out, darling!" Dean can hear Mr. Novak saying these words, but it feels like they're coming from very far away. The sixteen-year-old lets himself get hauled out of the house.

He stands in the farmhouse's balcony, watching in a daze as his boyfriend finishes wrapping a scarf around his neck.

"I'm sorry about that."

"He—"

"Was naked, yes. He tends to do that."

Castiel grabs his hand again and continues tugging him over to the parked Impala.

"But—"

"He didn't seem to care that you saw him, yes. My uncle is into random acts of nudism."

"And—"

"He was sitting in the kitchen counter, yes. Don't worry; we have strong cleaning supplies in our laundry room."

When they reach the car, Dean automatically opens his boyfriend's door first, then walks in bewilderment and climbs into his side.

There is silence, as he turns on the car. He looks at the worn wheel as he taps his fingers on it, while his boyfriend just stares straight ahead into the forest. Dean takes in a deep breath and is going to ask another question when Castiel's completely flat-toned answer beats him to the punch.

"No, Xica and Genevieve do not share Uncle Balthazar's penchant for nudism."

"Oh. Ok."

* * *

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.

Halloween is just a couple days away, meaning that the priest is talking about the evils of the pagan holiday of all Hallow's Eve, and how wearing costumes is a way of worshipping Samhain.

Dean rolls his eyes.

If a little girl wants to be a princess for the night, and an old lady finds her cute enough to give her free chocolate, then how the hell does that translate into evil?

Castiel yawns, and slumps into Dean's shoulder.

The blonde leans close to his boyfriend's ear and whispers, "Let's get out of here and buy ourselves some hot cocoa, 'kay?"

The brunette stays in the same position for a moment, then nods and sits up straight again.

They get up from their seat, and Dean leads them both down the aisle between the pews. As they walk away, a wave of rushing murmurs begins to follow them. The blonde teenager thinks that it's because they're leaving in the middle of mass. He forgets he's holding on to his boyfriend's hand. And that the fact that he's two paces ahead of Castiel leaves their threaded fingers exposed for everyone to see.

* * *

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.

He watches Cas blows on his hot cocoa, pretty pink lips pursing softly.

They've decided to drink their chocolate out in the park. They are sitting side by side on a bench overlooking a lake. It's beautiful, out here. The trees around them are alive with blazing red, gold, and orange colors. A cool breeze passes through, and both teenagers shiver and press closer to each other.

Dean takes a sip from his own drink, eyes fluttering closed. The cocoa's warmth washes down his throat and settles pleasantly in his stomach.

"Dean?" Castiel asks softly. Dean hums and opens his eyes again.

Cas is looking at him with a small quirk in his smile, his face just inches away from his own. Helplessly, Dean's lips trip all over his boyfriend's. The brunette hums in appreciation, but pats his knee; his silent way of telling him that he wants to say something.

"What?" Dean whispers, after pulling his mouth just an inch away from his.

"Let's buy apples. I want to bake a pie."

"Marry me."

* * *

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.

"Did you know," Dean announces around a playful smirk and a saucily raised eyebrow, "that the pomegranate is considered an aphrodisiac?" The blonde splits the grained red fruit in his hands in two, and begins to pick at the plump seeds inside.

"The ancient Greeks called it 'the fruit of the dead'," Cas counters, giving him a smile small when his own wide one crumbles.

They are in a farmer's market. Castiel had maintained that the apples would taste better if bought here, since they would be straight from the source.

"The Greeks had certain beliefs about apples as well, you know," the blue-eyed brunette continues, as they finally reach the crates full of ripe apples.

"Did it involve the dead?" Dean asks as he chews and crushes the seeds with his teeth.

"Definitely not," Cas answers, picking up a bright green Granny Smith. "_I throw the apple at you_…" he says, tossing the fruit at his boyfriend. Dean quickly moves his pomegranate to his left hand, and catches the apple with his right. Cas smirks. "…_and if you are willing to love me, take it and share your __**man**__hood with me."_

Dean looks up from the Granny Smith in his hand and stares at Cas, whose eyes are shining with undisguised mischievousness, then looks back down to the apple. A smile worms its way out of his mouth. "Who said that?"

"Plato."

"Did he really say 'manhood'?" Dean takes a bite out of the apple as he moves closer to Cas.

"He said 'girlhood', actually, but I didn't think you'd appreciate that," Cas tells him, chin tipping upwards as Dean gets very close.

"Yeah, you're right," the blonde murmurs, and offers the apple to his boyfriend. Still making eye contact, the brunette's teeth sink into the fleshy fruit, lips sealing around the bite. But the dripping juice still manages to escape, thin rivulets making their way down a couple of Dean's fingers.

* * *

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Cas gasps, and Dean can hear his palms slapping on the kitchen counter, trying to find purchase. There's the clatter of metal hitting the counter, then all of a sudden he's hit with a cloud of flour.

He opens his eyes, and from his kneeling position on the floor, he can see his boyfriend's left hand clutching at the lip of an overturned empty metal bowl. The flour that had once been inside now decorates the entire length of his arm, his torso, and the side of Dean's face.

The blonde laughs around his mouthful, and Cas opens his own mouth in a silent gasp. The muscles in his pale arm stand out as he clutches the bowl even tighter.

The Singer household is half-empty; Bobby and Ellen have gone out for the afternoon, but Jo and Sam are both in their rooms. The boyfriends have closed the sliding kitchen doors and looped one of Jo's many hair ties around the little knobs, making sure that whoever wants to enter will cause enough racket to alert them.

Still, Dean pulls away and licks his lips, replacing his mouth with his hand. "Ssshhh," he hisses, as he strokes Cas with long, and firm pulls. Cas gives a barely audible grunt, and rocks himself into his grip, right hand fingers digging into his overgrown blonde hair.

The crisp smell of the now sliced apples wafts through his nose, intermixing with his boyfriend's pure essence, and Dean thinks there's no better scent in existence.

* * *

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.

Dean lets loose an uncontrollably loud, drawn out groan.

"So, so good," he moans.

Castiel's face and neck are flushed. The coal black of his hair is long enough to fall into his eyes, and for a moment, Dean thinks about pulling it back behind an ear. But then he's sidetracked by another wave of pleasure. It rips another moan out of him.

"Uh…Dean, honey? Do you think you could, you know, tone down the pornographic sounds? You're at the dinner table." It's Aunt Ellen.

Dean looks up from his plate of apple pie double helpings and finds himself with the rather horrified faces of his family.

Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby had come back from their outing with Japanese food from that awesome restaurant they had all gone to in the summer. By then, the pie had been successfully baked, so Cas stayed for dinner, and then served the pie for dessert.

"I can't help it. It's sooo good," he declares around another mouthful of pie. He grabs his boyfriends hand, which is laying on the table, and when Cas looks up from his plate, says very, very seriously, "It is so, so good."

Castiel flushes an even deeper red, if it's at all possible.

"It's Genevieve's recipe," the brunette mumbles.

Dean gives another groan and says, "It wasn't Vivi who baked the pie, now was she?"

"I feel like this dessert should have an NC-17 rating," comments Jo weakly.

Dean moans, "You're goddamn right it does. Damn, now this is some sexy pie. Mm!"

He vaguely hears Cas apologize to his family over the sound of Heaven's angelic chorus singing in his brain with every bit he takes.

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**TBC**

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	19. Halloween Hangover

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

**A/N: OH MY GOD! THE UNIVERSE CONSPIRED AGAINST ME ON THIS CHAPTER! IT'S FINALLY OUT, THOUGH, SO NOW I CAN CONCENTRATE ON THE NEXT ONE, THANK GOODNESS!**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XIX: THE ONE WHERE THE SIOUX FALL TEENAGE POPULATION SUFFERS A HALLOWEEN HANGOVER**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Could I have imagined a long chapter title? LOL! This was meant for Halloween, but yeah, time ran away from me while reality held me up and beat me down along with its ugly cousin, responsibility. Blergh!**

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Meg Masters brings down her arm and the whip in her hand whistles through the air and cracks against the floor. A wicked laugh starts in her chest, bubbles up her throat and spills out through sharp fangs and crimson-colored lips. Her dainty body is encased in skin-tight, shiny, black latex. Her boots and her corset are an array of gleaming metal buckles. Her eyes glow a creepy yellow, and from the mess of her hair emerges a pair of sharp, bone-like horns.

"The power of Jesus compels you," Castiel orders, arm outstretched, the black talons in his fingers barely grazing Meg's exposed forehead. In his other hand, he's clutching a bible with an upside down cross painted gold on the cover. The oppressing black of his priest clothes seem to push the light away, leaving only haunting black shadows surrounding him. The only bright piece in his clothes is the blindingly white collar in his neck; a mockery of the purity he certainly does not have. At Meg's second bout of laughter, he gives a small smirk, a sharp fang peeking out, and his neon blue eyes seem to become that much brighter.

Besides him is Dean Winchester, with his depthless black eyes. He's unleashing a full blown smile, and the crinkling in his skin causes the gaping bullet wound on the side on his temple to become even more noticeable. The side of his face is smothered in dripping blood, blood that also seems to be getting everywhere on his police man's uniform. Dean runs a hand through his hair, leaving behind streaks of rusty red and bits of assorted gore, before resting it on his service weapon. Or well, someone's service weapon; there is a severed finger still looped through the trigger guard, and if you look close enough, the tarnished badge on his chest says "Sheridan."

"Nice costumes, boys," drawls Meg after she's done cackling. The headband with the demon horns sag a little to the side, and she pushes it back with two pink-polished fingers. "A devil-worshipping priest and a zombie cop. Pretty cool."

"Thanks!" responds Dean with another wide grin, and loops an arm around Cas's shoulders.

"And what are you supposed to be?" asks Castiel, head tilting to the side, his ever-sloppy hair in danger of sticking to the makeup on Dean's temple.

"I'm a dominating she-devil! Duh!"

Meg is hosting this year's Halloween Party in her mansion-like home, and everyone around them is having the time of their lives. Most of the people invited are wearing completely ridiculous costumes; Ash, for example, came to the party as a taco. It's fun though, because today's Halloween and everyone has an excuse for acting and looking completely absurd.

Meg finishes greeting them by putting a plastic cup of punch in each of their hands, then moves away to say "hi" to the other people who just arrived.

They sip at their drinks for a while, hovering in a corner and watching how the other kids from his school are making fools of themselves. At some point he catches sight of Jo, and she is a vision in the sexiest referee uniform he has ever seen. She somehow found a pair of high heeled Chuck Taylors, combined it with knee-high socks, a black micro mini skirt, and a black and white striped shirt that seems to be painted to her torso. She actually got a fan base of adoring males following around her every move.

On second thought, she should have worn a nun costume.

The loud music suddenly changes, and a mechanical whirring starts. The bass suddenly drops, and everyone, even Dean, cheers. Because while Zeppelin, and AC/DC, and Metallica are the best, nothing beats dubstep when it comes to teenage partying.

It takes Dean three whole songs to convince Cas to dance. The brunette is suddenly shy, and the blonde kind of gets it, because Castiel had never danced before in public. And now he's supposed to do it in full priest costume. With another male. In front of half the school's upper classman population, and other assorted strangers.

The first song they dance along to is awkward. The seventeen-year-old is stiff, and has trouble synchronizing his movements to his boyfriend's. Dean tries to fix that by grabbing loosely at the black cloth over his hips, and making sure that Cas keeps a hold on his own. He makes sure they sway together, ignoring the music, instead of grinding along to the beat.

Throughout the rest of the songs, he speaks little encouraging instructions into the shell of Cas's ear, trying to force his attention only on him. He turns to sweet nothing words when his boyfriend's eyes wander over to the laughing drunk people around him. And then he's cracking off-colored jokes all over the place, making his boyfriend blush and huff in laughter. And when he's least expecting it, he suddenly twirls the brunette out of his hold, grabbing unto his hand before he stumbles too far away and then yanking him back, until Cas's body crashes against his chest.

They stare at each other, just inches apart, the brunette breathing hard from the unexpected move, and then Dean smiles. It's infectious, because then Cas is smiling, too; the kind of smile that he only reserves for behind closed doors. And when the next song begins to play, it's Cas who starts leading, and Dean eagerly follows.

And then they're just another pair of ridiculous teenagers celebrating Halloween like everyone else at the party.

And it's great, and it's fun, and it's liberating.

And no one notices Ruby Masters—Meg's wicked little sister—pouring strange contents into the punch bowls.

* * *

.

.

.

Bloodshot green eyes suddenly snap open, and Dean's mind whirs into activity.

He catalogues the state of his body as he tries to decipher exactly what he's staring at. He concludes he's a walking bruise, but still alive and relatively undamaged, around the same time that he realizes his eyes have been taking in water stains on a ceiling. The sixteen-year-old groans, throat flaring into burning pain, and forces his concrete-stiff neck to turn to his left.

Only to come face to gaping mouth. A blast of acrid, morning breath suddenly hits him. He scrunches his nose, and tries to give out some kind of disgusted sound, but his throat rebels against him. Instead, he tries to move away, and finds that he can't. He's pinned down by the body wrapped around him. He gives a sigh of relief when his mind finally registers that it's Cas who's sprawled over him.

Now that he knows he's relatively unharmed, and that his boyfriend is right beside him, still breathing, his suddenly spiked stress levels begin to lower. Until another thought strikes him.

Where the hell are they?

The sudden question leaves his mind reeling, and his body unconsciously reacts by forcing Dean's body to jump off the bed in one smooth, yet panicked motion. Castiel moans at the sudden movement, but just wiggles around on the messy bed until he's comfortable again.

The blonde takes in his surroundings: two queen beds (one completely messed, the other still perfectly made), one bedside table, one desk, two lamps, one ancient TV, and one arm chair with a wrinkled trench coat thrown over it. This looks suspiciously like a motel room.

Alright, Dean can work with that.

He looks down at himself, and is grateful to find that he still got his pants on, even if he has no shoes. He's pretty sure he wasn't wearing a wife beater under his police shirt, but at least he's not bearing his chest for the world to see.

Cas produces another rough sounding huff, and Dean leans over the mess of sheets to shake his shoulder.

"Hey, hey Cas, wake up!" Dean tries to say, but all that comes out is a broken, hoarse whine. The shaking is enough to wake the brunette though, and he frowns before blinking the sleep away. One eye still has a neon contact.

"Dean?" Cas says, and it's like he's swallowed gravel, chased it with crushed glass, and then scraped his vocal chords with sand paper. It might have been hot, if he didn't look so fucked up; it looks like someone smeared bright pink lipstick all over the side of his pale face.

The brunette sits up on the bed, and the sheets that had snarled its way around his torso falls to his lap, revealing a Wonder Woman shirt. Cas—as far as Dean's closet-raiding abilities can tell him—owns no such shirt, and if memory serves him right, he'd been wearing a simple white t-shirt under his priest costume. He plucks at it slightly, then the pale hands push away the bed sheets from his lap, and they both find that the seventeen-year old is wearing Superman sleeping pants.

Blue eyes narrow as best as they can, given the situation.

"What?"

Because, really, what?

Suddenly, a tortured groan sounds out from the corner of the room, and both Cas and Dean jump, startled, because the room had looked empty. The noise is coming from the arm chair, and the trench coat actually starts to move, until it slides off and falls to the ground. A figure is revealed, twisted into a fetal position in order to fit into the small armchair. A wild curtain of blonde hair hides most of the body from view, but there's no way Dean wouldn't recognized the Chuck Taylors that his cousin had gushed over at the shoe store.

"Jo?" the blonde manages to squeak out, and the figure begins to move with slow, pain-filled grunts.

His cousin's hair is actually more like a bird's nest at the moment, and when her face is revealed, he's suddenly glad that he doesn't wear eye liner. Because what Dean sees, is what was left of Jo's kohl smeared around the eye-area, making her look like a demented raccoon.

She somehow untangles herself from her position in the chair, and manages to stand up on shaky legs. Her brown eyes finally open, and even from across the room, Dean can see that her eyes are fire engine red.

"Dea—" she begins to say, but her legs choose that moment to give out on her, and Dean fights the pains in his own body to cross the room and help Jo into the available bed. Castiel gets up from his own bed, and even though he sways just a bit, he doggedly ignores his swimming mind in order to sit besides Jo.

"Water," Cas crackles out, and Dean nods and stumbles and limps his way to the bathroom. He's filling up a paper cup from the water faucet, and he looks into the reflection of the yellow-spotted mirror.

A train wreck looks pretty next to him, he decides. The blonde grimaces, and that's when his wandering eyes catch on to something in the bathtub. Dean squints at the mirror, then decides to turn around to see with his own two eyes.

It's an arm, dangling limply out of the bathtub, through the edge of the baby-blue curtain.

Oh god, there's a dead body in the bathroom.

Dean takes a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm down. The body needs to be disposed. The less Cas knows about it, the better. He doesn't seem to have his phone with him, but he's sure the room has one. All it would take is one call to Bobby, and the anonymous people in black suits and sunglasses will suddenly appear and make it all seem like nothing has happened. He moves towards the tub, extends a hand, and tugs at the bath curtain.

Inhale, exhale. Yank.

"Argshirlfgsldfdieslaskasdhcn esd?"

"Shit! Zombie!" Dean squeaks out, jumping about three feet back, but still clutching to the curtain. The plastic pulls at the cheap rings and they snap off, the sudden unbalance sending the blonde sprawling atop the ancient toilet.

The dangling arm belongs to a man, who had not been dead, but just sleeping. No one would've figured out the difference at first glance though, because this man's under eyes are bruised and sunken in, his lips are dried up, and pieces of skin are sticking out, and the rest of him looks like he went ten rounds with a three hundred pound man, then dragged himself back home. Literally. Like there where huge tears on the guy's 'Mario's Pizza' shirt, and the exposed skin peeping through showed vivid red gravel burns.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demands, once he finally gets his bearings. He watches as the not-a-zombie grabs at the edge of the tub, hauling himself up inch by groaning inch.

"Arrwgofvhoswhurm…wha?"

They don't have time for this. "Who the fuck are you!" he snarls.

The guy jumps in place, startled, and squeaks out an "Andy! My name's Andy!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he continues in the same tone. It's irrational, he knows, to be asking that question when _he_ doesn't even know where 'here' is. Still, it's the principle of the matter; since he knows Cas and Jo, then 'Andy' is the odd one out and therefore not to be trusted.

"Errrmm…pizza delivery?" Andy answers, scrunching his face tight, obviously trying to remember. "For uh…Meg? Masters? Meg Masters?"

Seriously?

"Seriously?"

"Uh...yeah. I was delivering twenty boxes of pizza to this ginormous house and then…I'm waking up in a bathtub, man!"

Dean stares hard at Andy. Narrowed green eyes clashing with squinty brown ones.

His story seems to coincide with his own; Meg's party is the last thing he remembers before waking up in a random motel in the middle of _Somewhere_. He's willing to bet it's the same thing with his boyfriend and his cousin.

"Dean!" Cas hollers suddenly, destroyed voice rising agitatedly.

Dean jumps out of the toilet and slips over the fallen plastic curtain, holding on to the door's handle to haul himself out of the bathroom. Behind him, Andy clatters around, trying to do the same, but he must've hit a knob or something, because the showerhead is suddenly spewing out water and the guy is screeching like a banshee.

The sixteen-year-old ignores it all in favor of making sure that Cas and Jo are alright.

They are. But they're staring at each other, and then they both swivel their heads to stare at him, and then the rotate it down to the spare bed to stare at two opened black duffel bags. He can't see their contents from where he's standing, but before he moves to look in for himself, both teenagers start moving. Cas and Jo overturn the bags, and Dean is sure he's just entered a movie.

Because, woah.

Out of Cas's bag, a waterfall of green blocks comes flowing, spilling and spreading on the bed. Only, they're not just green blocks. They are hundred of stacks of crisp, American money. And as if that wasn't enough, out of Jo's bag spills out a mess of tiny little plastic bags, full of white powder.

"Oh my God," rasps out Andy, who stumbles into the room, completely soaked, to stand beside him. "Is that cocaine?"

His cousin lands a bewildered gaze on him, and he knows exactly what she's going to say before she does.

"What the…fucking—fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fucking _fuck?!_"

He couldn't have put it any more eloquently.

* * *

.

.

.

This could possibly be classified as the worst day in the history of ever for Jody Mills.

"Sheriff! Jody!"

And it's about to get worse.

Bobby Singer reaches her just as she's finishing her conversation with the Fire Department's captain. She rolls her eyes and counts to three before turning over to see the older man.

Looks like Singer's kids weren't left unaffected either.

"Can I help you, Bobby?"

"Jo and Dean, they've been missing since last night—"

"Look around you, Bobby," she interrupts, waving her arms wide. They're at the town's park entrance, and at the moment it's swarmed with police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, and desperate parents still wearing their pajamas. "Lots of teenagers have been missing since last night. Now I've found Ash," she continues, pointing up at the highest part of a tree. Bobby looks up and discovers a kid dressed as a taco clutching at a branch, "and a few kids have been popping out naked from the bushes—"

She's cut off by another police officer, who murmurs a rush of words into her ears before going over to the crowd of parents. Sheriff Mills heaves a sigh. "And I've just been told that barely legal Christine Simms woke up married to Billy the Hobo."

Worst day ever.

"I'm sorry Bobby, I'm really trying."

Bobby stares at her for a moment, before shutting his eyes and heaving a sigh.

"Alright, alright, Jody. I'll keep in touch."

o-o-o-o-o

He returns to Ellen, who's hugging Genevieve around the shoulders. Sammy's talking softly to Xica, while Balthazar looks like he's about to burst at the seams.

"Well?" the man demands, once he rejoins them.

Another sigh.

"Jody's got her hands full with half the town's teenagers missing."

"Happy Halloween," murmurs the redhead.

"Alright," speaks Ellen, letting go of the woman and digging into the back of her pants. She produces her cell phone, quickly fiddling with it. "Which organization has the strongest spy satellite again?"

Bobby sucks at his teeth. "That'd be Frank Devereaux's division, dear."

"Paranoid bastard," she murmurs as she flicks through her list of contacts.

* * *

**TBC**

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**PLEASE REVIEW! :)**


	20. Trickster Antics

**DISCLAIMER: Not Mine.**

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**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XX: THE ONE WHERE GABRIEL NOVAK COMES TO TOWN FOR A VISIT**

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**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gabriel's scatterbrain actually remembers he's got a nephew, and decides to go visit him. This is his the beginning of his journey. This chapter is pretty long, because Gabe is so scatterbrained that I don't think we'll ever see him again...**

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Gabriel "Loki" Novak is a world-famous movie producer known as prone to carry out acts of randomness.

Like the time he forced all the actors, the director and himself to go native in the most rural parts of Zimbabwe before even starting the production plans for a certain movie. Sure, at the end of it all, when the movie got nominated and won most of the night's Oscars, everyone was grateful and many heavy hitters in the industry started copying him. But still, the decision had been completely abrupt; one moment he's unwrapping a cherry lollipop, the next he's hollering for his secretary to start travel arrangements.

Anyways, the point is that everyone who has ever known the owner of Trickster Antics, expects the man to do the unexpected.

Like, say, take out his Cadillac from his garage in Pennsylvania and drive it all the way to Podunk Sioux Falls, North Dakota.

The man in question grimaces slightly at the thought of the town his dear brother had chosen to move into. Christ, it isn't even in the metro area. Not even his GPS could have found it if he hadn't plugged in coordinates. Friggin' coordinates! It's like Balthazar isn't even in America anymore!

It's as he's just less than two hours away from the "spacious, period farmhouse (he hears Balthazar, and his ridiculous English accent, gush in his mind)" when he gets a call. The phone rings, echoing through the car's speakers and Gabriel answers it.

"Loki speaking," he says, his tone cheerful in a way only a demented clown can be.

"_Good afternoon, Mr. Novak,"_ responds a smooth, female voice.

"My Belgium White Chocolate Truffle," he coos, and he can hear his secretary huff an elegant laugh on her own side.

"_Mr. Novak, I'm calling to remind you of your conference call meeting."_

Huh.

"Ummm…what meeting?"

"_Mr. Novak, the one with Universal Studios? You were the one who summoned the meeting in the first place. A week ago?"_

A week ago? What had he been doing a week ago?

* * *

.

_(Flashback)_

_._

_Sunlight streams through the heavy red curtains, casting an eerie glow to the room. The smell of incense is rich, and he takes a deep breath as the musicians around him prepare their drums and their cymbals. A raven beauty with dark, soulful eyes approaches him, runs her hands all over his body, fixes the long skirt hanging from his hips, pushes at the jingly bra strapped to his chest, and ties a belt full of clinking metal coins around his waist. _

_They stare intensely into each other's gaze. And then the music starts. His hands rise abruptly above his head, mirroring the woman, and then both of their hips begin to move in wild hypnotic waves, the jingling bells mixing in with the Arabian music. _

* * *

.

.

Right.

"Oh! The meeting! Of course!" Silence. "When was it again?"

"_In ten minutes, Mr. Novak."_

"Uh—yeah! Of course it's in ten minutes!" Weak laughter. "…Truffle?"

"_Yes, Mr. Novak?"_

"You wouldn't know the phone number and access code for this meeting would you?"

"_Of course I do, Mr. Novak. I just sent you an e-mail with all the information necessary for the conference."_

"I love you."

"_No you don't, Mr. Novak."_

"Still, I appreciate you over most of the sniveling masses of humanity. I'm giving you a raise."

"_You already gave me one last week, Mr. Novak."_

"Fine, then. How about a Vivienne Westwood dress, hm?"

"_With all the matching accessories, including shoes, Mr. Novak."_

"You've got yourself a deal."

He keeps driving until the agreed time for the meeting. He parks right besides this small lake in order to make the call. As the phone rings, he takes in the trees on the sides of the road. The place is not ugly, but it's still too far from society to even consider it a permanent base of operations.

"_Loki, my man, you there?"_

"Joe! Hey Joe! What's happening?"

Gabriel reclines the driver's seat as he speaks to the other people attending the meeting, but as time passes, he becomes restless, and as the meeting unfolds, everyone's shark teeth start emerging. It's difficult for him to think and analyze fast enough while he's in a lounging position, so he's pretty soon out of the Cadillac and pacing back and forth as he chuckles darkly, and makes veiled counter threats through his phone.

The meeting lasts close to 45 minutes. By then, Gabriel is sure he's worn holes into the soles of his Bruno Maglis, with how much he's paced. His back and his legs already hurt, so he crosses the car's length one last time to reach the trunk.

"…Well Joe, it's not like you need any help with that, now do you?"

The words are delivered bluntly, and by Joe's silence, Gabriel knows he's won this round. He takes a second to bask in the awesomeness that is him, leaning heavily against his car, bum resting on the lid of the trunk.

And it would've really been an awesome moment for "Loki the Trickster," if it wasn't for the fact that he had forgotten to put up the emergency break. And now his car his rolling down the slight incline as Gabriel tries to pick himself up from the dusty ground.

"No! No, no, nonono, no!" he screams, completely forgetting the phone gripped in his hand.

The man scrambles after the car, limbs flailing as he tries to reach the driver's side to stop his sweet ride. Because the Cadillac looks like it's headed right for the lake.

"Fuck, fuck no! Nonono!"

Too late.

Gabriel watches in disturbed fascination as his $60,000 car submerges itself nose-first in the semi-shallow waters of the lake. It takes nearly half a minute for the scene in front of him to actually click in his brain.

Once it does, something snaps.

He roughly brings his phone up to his mouth, and screeches a long, drawn out: "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uck!"

He takes one wheezing breath.

"God damn you, Joe! You so fucking owe me a fucking new car, you worthless piece of shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiit!" At the last part, he so consumed in his sudden rage, that he cranks his arm back, and then just hurls his phone out into the lake. It falls dead-center in the water, and sinks down with a few, unceremonious bubbles.

As soon as it happens, though, Gabriel's eyes widen.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" He screams at his sunken possessions. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" He screams at the forest. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" He screams at the sky.

* * *

.

.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"Hi, yeah. I don't know if I'm calling the right people, but like, my car sank, my phone along with it, I'm in the middle of nowhere, and I'm a little scared something might come out of the woods and eat me."

After calming down long enough to think, Gabriel had walked off down the road, and had miraculously found one of those now disappearing emergency phones not twenty minutes later.

The nice operator lady took in all his information, and then called a tow truck for him. She advised him to get back to the scene of the accident, so that's exactly what he did. By the time he reached the idiotic lake, he was ready to blow gasket.

This is what happens when he tries to be nice and visit his family. Dammit, he is never going to fall for Balthazar's guilt-tripping attempts ever again.

He checks his wrist watch. Where is that truck?

Gabriel could've asked the 9-1-1 operator to call Balthazar and tell him of the situation, have the guy come down from his perfect little farmhouse, and help him. But, he didn't want to. No, he'd made the decision to surprise him and his pretty girlfriends and his dear nephew. And it doesn't matter that his car is now all but drowned, he still wants to surprise them.

He's contemplating throwing himself into the lake to find his cell phone and see if it works well enough to play Angry Birds, when the tow truck finally comes into view down the road. It's a rickety old thing with rust covering nearly the entire bonnet, and it has certainly seen better days.

It rumbles down the stretch of road, and stops with a loud groan in front of him. The driver's side door opens with a metallic creak, and a teenager jumps out.

The kid could've been handsome. Could've, if it wasn't for the fact that he was covered in black grease and sweat, his clothes were ripped in the most unseemly of places, his greasy hair was plastered to his forehead, and he smelled like he just rolled out of a gutter. Combine that with the fact that the guy was so built, that he could see his abs perfectly lined against the dirty white t-shirt, mix it with the epic grim look on his face, and he finds himself passing judgment. He's in the presence of a hick. Hillbilly white trash. Oh God, no. He'd take Zimbabwe any day over this.

"You Lucky?" the kid grunts, green eyes peering out of his dirty face and scrutinizing him.

"It's actually 'Low-key', but yeah, it's me."

"Huh." His head swivels over to the lake behind him and he jerks with his chin at his Caddy. "That you're car?"

"Hm? Oh, you mean the pretty Cadillac that's sitting in the lake? Yeah, that's mine."

The kid doesn't seem to find it funny. Just raises an eyebrow and Gabriel's got the feeling the guy's calling him an idiot in his head.

There's a rough sigh. "Let's get 'er out, then."

Green Eyes gets back on the truck, and maneuvers it to back it up towards the lake. When he gets out again, he pussyfoots around the edge of the water, hook in hand, then grimaces and walks into it. Kid probably hasn't been close to water in a week.

He comes out soaking wet, and covered in mud, and Gabriel feels kind of bad. Kind of. This is the kid's job, isn't it?

They watch together as the Caddy gets reeled out of the water and onto the truck, and once that's done, the kid starts lifting himself unceremoniously back into the driver's side. He starts the ancient machine back up, the engine giving an unholy roar, the clutch clacking loudly as he shifts gears.

Gabriel really doesn't want to get into the truck. It looks so dirty.

"You comin'?"

Then again, it's not like there's any other place to go in this road. He hadn't seen a car pass the entire time he'd been there.

"Alright, alright."

The ride is awkward. The cabin reeks of sun burnt leather and tobacco. The radio doesn't work, and neither does the heating, forcing them to lower their windows. Not the best thing to do in the middle of a Sioux Falls autumn. On top of that, his "savior" doesn't say anything. Not. One. Word. Every time he tries to start up a conversation, he gets a flash of green eyes from the corner of a greasy face, and any words he might have spewed out get swallowed back without hesitation.

* * *

.

.

They reach Singer Salvage some time around four in the afternoon.

Gabriel's really not impressed. Sure, he can appreciate the place as a great set for a horror movie, what with the rusted towers of cars, and everything looking like it's about to fall on you if you so much as breathe on it. But for the same reasons he likes the salvage yard, he hates it; it feels like he's willingly letting himself become a Saw victim.

The deeper he goes inside the property, the harder he finds it to remember the way back to the entrance. It's like he's entering another world, and Gabriel finds himself uncomfortable. If he were to scream, would someone be able to hear him?

The truck comes to a stop in front of a house that is, admittedly, pretty well kept. It's painted a cheery pastel yellow, and it has a porch swing, and lots of hanging baubles that make cool tinkling noises with the wind. And alright, he wasn't really expecting such a picturesque home in the middle of so much rusted filth.

The kid turns off the engine and they both get out.

"Uncle Bobby! Got your customer!" he shouts out to the house, and Gabriel can't deny he's not impressed with how his voice doesn't break, just gets deeper.

A string of growled out expletives comes from the bowels of the house, and then the front door comes slamming open and this angry, trucker-hat wearing, redneck appears. This old guy looks like a growly bear, the way he's glaring just backs up his musings.

"God dammit, boy! No need to holler like that when I'm just a couple yards away, you idjit!"

The kid rolls his eyes, and then just stomps off towards the stacks of flattened cars, making his way down a passage way between the columns of rusted metals.

And just like that, Gabriel's left alone with a total stranger who just might be part Grizzly. At least he doesn't look like he'll crush him with just the flick of a finger.

* * *

.

.

There was nothing Mr. Singer could do for the car. After all, they were a salvage yard, not a full running garage. The thing was more computer than machine, anyways. He's advised on not giving up the car to any other mechanic in the town, since, in his words, 'they ain't got a lick o'sense and they'll jist rob you blind while pretendin' they know what they're talkin' 'bout.' He feels like the old man should have spit after giving that pronouncement, but thankfully Singer spares him the vivid imagery.

At the end of it all, they call the dealer and send for a truck to come pick the drowned Caddy in the morning, and have their specially trained mechanics work on it. Gabriel borrows a health-hazard clunker until he can go and rent a vehicle, and is passing under the Singer Salvage sign above his head by the time sunset falls on the scrap yard.

It's only when he's half an hour down a dark, lonely road does he realize that he had been relying on his GPS to get him to his brother's. And now he's got nothing.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck!" he whines into the car horn as he bashes his forehead against the steering wheel.

* * *

.

.

As a writer, Balthazar has learned to appreciate silence for all its inspiration-inducing attributes.

Living with Xica has taught him to appreciate those quite moments in his life even more. The woman was amazing, but also very boisterous at all hours of the day. Her temper could run as hot as a Brazilian summer when something got her going, and for some reason she believes that she has to screech into her phone's speaker in order for the person on the other side to hear her. He knows every little detail about her "information-sensitive business calls."

Vivi, on the other hand has a softer personality. Nevertheless, it's a cheerful one. And what do cheerful people do to fill up silence? They hum. They sing. They warble. They belt out entire operatic songs in notes that they really can't hold at all.

Now Castiel is a whole other animal. The boy's silent ways can only be described as ninja-like. But even that has somehow changed. Before—let's call it the space of time right after The Pontiac Situation and just before Dean Rang the Doorbell—Castiel's presence was unobtrusive. Their nice California apartment and their new comfortable farmhouse had felt…empty. Like the boy disappeared once you stopped looking at him. But now, after Dean Rang the Doorbell, his Cassy's presence had…grown. He was still quiet, he still kept to himself, but his presence had swollen up and had become a valid member of the house, if that makes any sense.

So yes, even though Balthazar likes to think of himself as the life of any party, he revels in every little opportunity he has for himself, and basks in the blissful quiet.

Of course, that's when his door bell rings.

He peers over his editing glasses at the clock mounted on the wall, and realizes it's nine in the night.

Another ring.

It can't be his girls and nephew, they've got keys.

Ring.

Maybe it was an axe murder. That would certainly add a twist to the night's events.

Ring.

"Alright, alright! Fine! I'm getting there!" he grumbles unhappily as he gets up from his sofa/story-editing-nest and leaves the living room to reach the front door. On the way, he sticks his pen behind his ear, and rubs at the dried ink in his fingers. So many ideas floating in his head at the very moment, but someone just had to—

Ring.

–Interrupt him. "Didn't you hear me the first time, you maggot, I'm getting there I said!" he yells now, right before yanking open his door and finds—

"Balthy-Boo!"

* * *

.

.

Gabriel hums as he gets out of the truly magnificent shower. Nothing like scalding hot water to wash away the day's grime.

Balthazar is waiting in the guest bedroom, hands on his hips, and foot tapping away like a pissed off wife. The fact that he's wearing a fluffy robe and fuzzy slippers while doing so just makes it all the more ridiculous.

"You could've gotten lost! Robbed, kidnapped, killed! Aliens could have beamed you up into their mother ship and done disturbing things to your anatomy! What were you thinking?"

"Relax, babe. I made it one piece, didn't I?" he answers back with a roll of his eyes. Shouldn't he be the one going all parent-y? Isn't he the older one of the two? He crosses the room and picks up the clothes Balthazar had lent him from the bed. They'll be a little tight, but it's not like he has any dry clothes, now does he? He managed to save his suitcase from the car, but it was too water logged so now they're tumbling around in his brother's dryer.

"Barely! You drowned your car. In a pond—"

"A small lake."

"—an oversized pond. And then had to borrow a car from Bobby Singer. There's a reason that car was in a scrap yard, Gabe. It could have broken down on you."

"Yeah well, it didn't," he says, and then pulls on the borrowed shirt. He's halfway through, when he realizes he never told his brother where he got that clunker. "Wait," he begins, and it's completely muffled by the shirt stuck on his shoulders and across his face. He must look quite a sight. "How do you know the thing belongs to that redneck?" And as soon as his question's out his head pops out through the neck hole, damp hair messed beyond belief. It doesn't matter, though, because now he can see Balthazar's raised eyebrow of disapproval clashing with a completely impish smirk. "What?"

"I'm not telling you."

"And why the hell not?"

"'Cause it's got to do with Cassy."

That got his attention.

"What do you mean by that?"

Balthazar huffs, and walks over to him. The man threads his fingers through his longer strands of hair, trying to tame it, he's sure. Gabriel can see his own reflection in his brother's glasses; can see how his eyes fall at half-mast. He makes physical contact with so many people, but none of them are his family. It's not the same.

"Gabriel, the last time you asked about your nephew was when we still lived in California. I had to bribe you with a picture of him to get you interested in him again. You're absolutely scatterbrained, darling. Like that fish, from that movie."

"Dori," Gabriel whispers, because he can't deny that he's completely forgotten about Cassy. Sure, he was a nervous wreck when someone somehow got a hold of him and told him what had happened in Pontiac, but as soon as he was sure that Balthazar had taken care of it all, he'd more or less just…moved on to other matters in his life.

"Sure."

"It's why I'm here now, though. To see you, and your beautiful women, and baby Castiel."

The younger brother tsks and breaks away from him, goes back to the bed, picks up the pair of boxers, and then flings them at the older brother. "Cover your junk, will you? No one wants to see it."

"My junk is a work of art, thank you very much. Besides, aren't you the spontaneous nudist?" he fires back, as he hops around in order to get a leg through the silky underwear.

"It's my home, my rules. And you seem to have forgotten something very important."

"What? What did I forget?"

Balthazar rolls his eyes, and then splays his arms out to encompass the entire room. It's annoying, when he does this. Like Gabriel is some kind of friggin' mind reader.

"Don't go mute on me now, Balthy. Spit it out."

"You thick-headed idiot! You come in saying you want to see my family, your blood, but you don't even ask!"

"Ask what?" Balthazar gives him the evil eye. Okay, so maybe there was something he was missing. Let's see…he made it alive to the house. His Caddy's getting picked up in the morning. He ordered a new phone through his brother's computer. He's got clothes to last him two weeks. His credit cards were all in his wallet. He's got his dear brother in front of him. What's he missing?

It takes him two more minutes of intensely staring at his sibling for it to finally click.

"Oh! Where is everyone?"

Balthazar groans.

"Forget it; I'm going back to my book downstairs. You can watch whatever you want on the TV here."

* * *

.

.

It took some gentle prodding—and by gentle he means unexpectedly jumping on the man from behind, wrestling him to the ground, sitting on his chest, and then rubbing uncooked bacon all over his face—but he managed to get Balthazar to give up the location of the rest of the household members.

Cas and the girls had been invited by some friend to go watch a viewing of Repo! The Genetic Opera. That film had so much potential. They could've really benefitted from a better production company. Like, maybe his. But he hadn't caught wind of Zdunich's vision in time.

But whatever, the point is:

"Cassy's out on a school night?"

Balthazar glares at him through the bathroom mirror just as he finishes washing his face with dish soap.

"Really? You want to act like a responsible guardian now?"

"Ya missed some grease," he points out, moving to sit on the toilet seat. "On your neck."

"The kid's a saint, Gabriel," Balthazar explains as he starts washing his face again, including his neck and hairline this time around. "So long as he keeps being as good as he's now, he's getting as many liberties as possible."

"I feel like you're trying to tell me something through subtlety, but I'm not getting it."

His younger brother just grabs at the hand towel on the side of the sink, and roughly wipes himself dry. Gabriel follows him as he leaves the bathroom, and makes his way over to the living room. He eschews the big sofa covered in his paperwork, to sprawl himself across the love seat.

Gabe sits himself cross-legged on the floor by his head. Their faces are at a very close distance, and they resolutely stare at each other until Balthazar gives another impish grin.

"Oh come on, Balthy! Please tell me! What is it?"

"Well, darling, it has to do with Cas."

"Of course it has to do with Cas! You say something about him you start acting stupid and being all—" and here he adapts a mocking sing-song voice "—_I know something you don't know_."

"I never said that! And I don't act stupid at all!"

"You so do!"

"I do not!"

"You do and it's annoying!"

"Well it's your own fault!"

"How so?!"

"You never ask about Cassy!"

"Well it's not like he asks about me!"

"He would if you did!"

"Oh please, he wouldn't! Us Novaks aren't wired like that and you know it."

"Well maybe we should be."

"Well maybe black people should go back to Africa!"

"Gabriel!"

"What? I thought we were spouting off retarded shit."

Their faces had gotten impossibly closer during their heated words, but at the older brother's last words, Balthazar pulls back to rest his head on the love seat's arm rest. Gabriel takes him in; the tall, lean frame, the curve of his chin, the shape of his brow, the blonde curls on his head. England had not been kind to him; he looks much more weathered than Gabriel himself, and the older one of the two would've been worried, if it wasn't for the fact that he knows how much a better life his little brother had built for himself with pretty Genevieve and formidable Xica.

"Ever considered moving to some third world country and marrying your girls?"

Balthazar snorts. "What, and miss the disgusting hatred and blind ignorance of this country's fine government and its taxpayers?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Gabriel sighs, let's himself fall back on the floor, uncrosses his legs, and rests them on his brother's stomach. "Just spit it out, man."

"Cassy's gay."

"WHAT!" The words are more or less screeched out as Gabriel struggles to sit back up. His feet fly all over the place and one toe manages to poke Balthazar in the eye.

"Ow, you cunt!" Balthazar shouts as he covers his wounded eye.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You nearly gouged my eye out with your claw!"

Gabriel manages to climb on Balthazar, and sits on his stomach this time. "Stop being so fucking dramatic and say that again."

"Cunt!" Gabe pokes him in the other eye, with a finger this time. "Mother fucker!"

"You said Cassy was gay!"

"Yes I did!"

"Why would you say that?!"

"Because he and his boyfriend make out right on this spot whenever they get the chance!" The sentence is literally spitted out; there are speckles of it all over Gabriel's face. But it's as if the man doesn't care; he's getting off the love seat and toppling over on the floor in a daze.

"Cassy is gay. And he has a boyfriend," he whispers to himself.

Maybe he should have asked about his nephew more frequently.

* * *

.

.

It feels like an elephant stomped all over his back when Gabriel wakes up the next morning. He gives out a single, drawn-out, 'Night of the Living Dead'-worthy groan as he rolls from one side of the guest bed to the other. It turns into a dying-vampire screech when the side of his face hits a beam of sunlight that had been pouring through the room's window. He buries himself underneath the comforter, groaning and hissing and clutching at one of those tiny decorative pillows that had somehow gotten tangled in the sheets.

"Time to get up, Gabriel." It a smooth, accented voice that speaks. His name is pronounced in a way that sounds exotic, extremely sensuous. His interest's piqued. He lifts an edge of the comforter.

The sight that greets him is marvelous. It's Xica, in all her petite, curvy glory, and Vivi's perfect, willowy body. One's holding a tray with a stack of pancakes and fried bacon, the other a jug of orange juice.

"I've died and gone to heaven," he decided out loud, throwing off the sheets and rising into a sitting position.

Genevieve snorts, and both women move towards him. The redhead gets on the bed and sits on his left side as the brunette settles on his right. They both smack a loud kiss on his cheeks at the same time, and the man tries to control the boyish giggles that suddenly try to escape him.

"A hot breakfast and hot company. Definitely heaven."

"Please stay away from my brother, darlings. You could get herpes." That's Balthazar, and he appears on the room's entrance, resting against the doorframe.

"Aw, but Zaza, we haven't seen him in so long," whines Vivi, but both of them still slide off the bed.

"Well, he'll be around for a while. No reason to smother him."

"Aw, but Balthy-Boo," begins Gabriel as he chews on a strip of bacon, "No one does smothering like you girlfriends," he finishes with a wink and a literally greasy smirk.

"That bacon you're eating's the same one you rubbed all over my face last night." Gabriel chokes, but Balthazar continues talking as if there wasn't anything wrong. The girls laugh softly to themselves. "Also, I know yesterday was the equivalent of Frodo's trip to Mordor for you, but it's already one in the afternoon. We need to go into town and get you a phone."

Gabriel stuffs nearly an entire pancake inside his mouth, squirts syrup into the awaiting maw, then just tries to speak around it with great struggle. "'S one awready? Cassy comin'"—and here pieces of food fly everywhere—"wif us?"

"No, dearest. Cassy's in school, like a good seventeen-year-old should be. Missed your chance in the morning. You'll catch him in the evening."

Gabe huffs, and just adds bacon to the chewed mess in his mouth.

* * *

.

.

Sioux Falls is not that small, Gabe admits. Still, people are too close to each other. Like, almost everyone calls out and greets Balthazar in a warm, familiar way. It's as if Balthy's been living here for five years and not merely five months.

Ugh.

Not to mention the fashion sense of these people. Really? All they had in store was plaid and John Deere camouflage?

Nevertheless, at least these people knew what a shower was, unlike that kid from the yard.

"What time is it again?" Gabriel asks around a Mary Jane. He's got to admit, it's been a while since he had one of those, and the corner store they just left had heaps and heaps of the square pieces of candy.

"Come on man, didn't you survive the Nigerian wild lands without a scrap of technology? Can't you tell by the position of the sun?" Balthazar asks sarcastically.

"It was Zimbabwe, not Nigeria, you dim-witted mud monkey."

"Dim-witted mud monkey? What does that even mean?"

"_Besides, _I had my Jaeger-LeCoultre wristwatch. Those things can survive the apocalypse."

Balthazar hums. "Well, where is it?"

"Where's what?" Gabriel asks, trying to dislodge a stuck bit of candy from a molar.

"Your Jaeger-LeCoultre wristwatch that's going to survive the apocalypse. I bet it'd be perfect for telling you the time right now."

Gabriel scowls, and then pouts. "That was mean."

"Oh please, brother. Your hide's thicker than a rhino's. Don't act so wounded."

Gabriel's face clears after rolling his eyes. "Just tell me what time is it, Balthazar."

The brother in question sighs, before digging through his back pockets for his phone. "Four twenty-two PM. You happy? You lazy piece of—"

"That's wrong," Gabriel interrupts, narrowing his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Balthazar drawls out, after rolling his eyes and huffing out a very loud breath.

The older brother digs into his own pockets, and produces his just-bought phone. He studiously ignores Balthazar's _'Oh, for the love of—' _as he lights up the screen to look at the time.

"It says right here that it's _two _twenty-two PM," he announces, shoving his phone into his brother's face.

"Gabriel, the clock's in a different time zone," Balthazar explains exasperatedly as he takes the smart phone. "See the letters next to the time? They say PST. We're in CST, right now darling." The 'darling' sounds more like an insult.

"Oh. Well why is it so late anyways?!"

"You insisted on a bubble bath after it took you a whole forty-five minutes to eat you lunch-pancakes," Balthazar states flatly as he returns his brother's new purchase. "Why do _you _think it's so late?"

"Well whatever. What about Cassy? Isn't he waiting to get picked up from school?"

"Dean's the one that drives him to and from school."

"Dean?" Gabe looks up from his phone's screen so fast that he actually feels something in his neck catch. "Who's Dean?"

"Our nephew's boyfriend. We went over this last night."

"No we didn't. You never told me his name. And the guy gives him rides? They could go anywhere and you would never know! Have you timed them to see if it takes too long for Cassy to return from school?"

Gabriel is suddenly struck with the memory of the picture Balthazar sent him not two months ago. Castiel was sitting against a small flowering tree, a pair of cats on his lap, and staring into the camera with those 'Sad Sam & Honey'-blue eyes. His nephew had looked so innocent, so vulnerable.

He is suddenly overcome by the need to see Cassy. See him nice and safe in his brother's charming little farmhouse. With this sudden need, he makes a hair-pin turn on the sidewalk; right shoulder clipping into Balthazar's rather roughly, causing the man to squawk in surprise. It doesn't matter, though, because he's already way down the street, walking at full tilt towards the Rolls.

"Where are you going?" demands Balthazar, scrambling to catch up as he tries to weave through the people walking around him.

"Back to your house! I want to see Cassy!" he shouts over his shoulder as he gets closer to the fancy car.

Balthazar manages to reach him, and his younger brother grips a hand around his arm, turning him around.

"Gabriel! Calm down! What's the rush?" his younger brother tries to sound soothing, he knows, but then the guy just screws it all up by saying, "He's not even home yet."

"Well, where is he? What's he doing away from home? Who's he with? Do you know them?"

Balthazar is giving him a look. A look he knows means that he's thinking his brother is bat-shit insane. For some reason, he always finds himself on the receiving end of such looks on a weekly basis. He really doesn't understand why.

"Gabriel, Cassy's a seventeen-year-old young man. He's not some rosy-cheeked virgin—"

"Oh my God! He's not a virgin?!" He screeches out the last part, and the people who are walking by near the car suddenly swivel their heads to look at him, but he doesn't care, because this is horrible. "Balthazar," he begins, desperate and betrayed, "I put my trust in you. I believed you could take care of our nephew. Our baby nephew. And instead you allow him to…" and here Gabriel grabs hold of his brother's shoulders, pulls him closer, "…discover the sins of carnal pleasure?"

"The sins of—" Balthazar cuts himself off, left eye twitching a steady rhythm. "Are you having me on? You're having me on, aren't you?"

"I'm being completely serious, Balthazar!"

And Gabe really is. Castiel is such a precious boy. After suffering the existence of his parents, his nephew deserves only the best, and random gay teenagers lusting after him is not the best.

"You're mad," Balthazar breathes out, as if in sudden realization. "Need I remind you that the last time I saw you, we went to—" and here he looks around, then drops his voice to a raspy whisper, "—a French orgy?" Then his raises his volume, "It was _you _who introduced me to both Vivi and Xica, _at the same time!_ You hypocritical Neanderthal! Neither of us has a leg to stand on when it comes to judging anyone's sexual habits, let alone our own nephew's." The younger brother slither's a hand through his own—such a familiar touch—and tugs him towards the passenger's side of the car.

"Look," he begins again, and Gabriel can feel himself calm down. Balthazar had always been good for this, to talk and talk and soothe. "Despite Michael and Lucinda's best efforts, our Cassy is growing up to be a very open minded young man, comfortable in his own skin. He's well-adjusted; he has friends, and such strong beliefs." Gabriel's whiskey eyes take in his brother. His grey eyes are bright, his voice marked with a tone that suggests he is sharing a great discovery with the rest of the world's population. "_And_ he is in a very happy and seemingly very healthy relationship with another boy. A boy, I might add, who looks at our Cassy like he's hung the moon."

At this, Gabriel scoffs. "Oh please, Balthazar. No small town boy is good enough for Cassy."

"Gabriel, Cassy's a small town boy, too. He's from Pontiac, Illinois!"

"That doesn't count. He lived with you in L.A.—"

"For less than a year!"

"—He came from L.A. No one in this plaid-riddled town'll ever be good enough for him."

"Would you like to meet Dean?"

"Wha?" The question catches him off guard. All this time Cassy's been hiding from him, and no one gives him enough information about the _boyfriend_. When he had asked his brother's girlfriends, they had just smirked at him, and then ran away. But here is his chance. He can finally meet the kid and judge him properly. Ugh, who knows how a small town gay teenager will act around him when they find out he's a producer. If the kid tries to break down into a song and dance routine, Glee style, he's done.

* * *

.

.

"People live out here?" Gabriel asks incredulously, as he peers out the Rolls Royce's passenger window and out towards the mess of trees lining the edge of town. Yes, Balthazar also lives on the edge of town, but it's on another side, a nicer one. That scrap yard is around these parts, somewhere.

"Dean does," responds Balthazar.

There is silence afterwards, but there's something that makes it uncomfortable. He thinks it's because his dear brother is fidgeting in the driver's seat like he wants to say something. Or like he's got ants in his ass. Probably both.

"Talk," he orders, still looking out the window.

"Dean lives with Bobby Singer."

And that causes to whip his head around lightning quick. That's the second time that day that he forces his neck, if he does it a third time he's sure he'll break something.

"Singer? Like, from the salvage yard? Singer Salvage Yard? That's why we're headed this way?"

This was worse than he thought. His nephew was hanging around a tetanus-infested car necropolis. And alright, if this is where the _boyfriend _lives, he can feel a little bad about the kid. Poor gay boy, probably dreams of Broadway musicals while staring at the depressing sight of a rotting scrap yard, with no one for company but a grouchy old red neck and a grunting brute with hygiene issues. Cassy must feel bad for Dean. Even he feels bad for the kid and he hasn't met him yet.

The asphalt ends and the dirt road begins, and Balthazar drives just a bit slower in care of his tires. In little time, they're turning right and passing under the Singer Auto Salvage sign. Oh dear, and here starts the endless mausoleum of decaying rust. And there's the only thing in this god-forsaken place that looks mildly clean. The house, he's talking about the house. Yes, definitely touched by a woman.

"Eereragrghgh…" he sounds out in a low voice as Balthazar turns the engine off.

"Gabriel. They accept their son's sexuality and his relationship with our nephew, they accept how untraditional us Novaks are, therefore accepting my polyamorous relationship with my darlings. They've been good friends. Be nice to these people, if not for common courtesy, or for Cassy, then for me."

"Fine, fine, fine! Let's get this show on the road already. Enough with the theatrics, let's go meet Dean and the rest of the Beverly Hill Hillbillies, alright?" Gabriel smiles wide at his brother, and Balthazar stares impassively at him from his driver's side.

"You're an idiot." It's a statement. He's out of the car and slamming the door closed before the older one of the two can reply. Gabriel takes his time getting out, patting his clothes and fixing his collar once he does. He's pulling out his sunglasses from his breast pocket and covering his eyes with them—need to make an impression, obviously—when what sounds like a pack of dogs starts barking and howling, and they seem to be moving closer.

He's next to Balthazar at the house's front door in the blink of an eye, and he's knocking on the heavy wood before his brother manages to fully raise his own fist.

"Coming!" shouts a voice from the inside. It's high-pitched, like that of a boy who's just immersing himself into the festering pool of Puberty.

And he's absolutely right! The door is answered by a pipsqueak with a brown mop of hair and matching annoyed eyes. The glower clears when he notices it's Balthazar in the doorway.

"Oh hey, Mr. Novak. Come in," the kid moves aside, allowing them entrance into the house.

It's like entering another world. No, it really is. The house is aged, obviously, but it's squeaky clean. Gleaming, mostly. And there are books. And it's not just this tasteful, decorative accent where there are these three books held up by two artistic bookends on some small French-named table. There are stacks of them. New and shiny and battered and worn, in English, and Spanish, and Russian, and Japanese. They hide behind the front door, crawl along the walls, and a few even rest on the stairs leading to the second floor. There's one on a table, but it's not decoration; it's more like they left it there to grab the car keys from the dish next to it and left the house in a rush. As they follow the kid, Gabriel notices a few other things, like the gun cabinet, full of weapons he's sure civilians aren't really allowed.

And along the walls, over the books are many pictures. Of Mr. Singer and a nice-looking lady with the White Cliffs of Dover in the background. Of a pair of little boys and a younger man sitting on the hood of a gleaming Chevy Impala. There's another one of the lady, smoking a cigar and leaning against a war tank. And there's one of a little smiling blond girl crouching on the floor and gripping the handles of a machine gun.

A twilight zone. He's entered a twilight zone.

They reach a living room; the kid throws himself back on a weathered couch and picks up a book with German writing on the cover.

"Sam, this is my brother, Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Sam; Dean's little brother."

Sam looks up quickly and narrows his eyes at him. Gabriel narrows his eyes back. "Hello," the kid answers a little flatly.

Hmm…Dean's brother. The kid looks educated, what with the German literature and the jersey covering his torso proudly proclaiming him a Mathlete. Maybe the siblings share some similarities. He thinks Dean would be a bit easier to accept if he was a gay genius, and not a gay drama artist.

Balthazar clears his throat. "So uh—where's Bobby?"

"He's manning The Roadhouse."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Jo's hockey practice is starting to pick up, so Aunt Ellen went with to try and help out."

* * *

_._

_(In a totally unrelated note)_

_._

_Ellen Harvelle has got a severe frown on her brow and a snarl on her lips._

"_But-but it hurts," mumbles Rick, line backer for the football team, and goalie for the ice hockey team. He had accidently twisted his ankle. Ellen wrapped an elastic bandage around it all and had ordered him to get back in the game._

"_Boy, I survived three days in the African jungle with my belly cut wide open, the only thing preventing my guts from falling out was my hand. If I can do that, then you can get on your ankle and finish the rest of practice, you hear me?!"_

"_Um…" He turns a worried and confuse stare towards Coach Turner. The man just nods without making eye contact. "…OK."_

* * *

.

.

Joe, huh? That must've been the kid that towed his Caddy yesterday. Well good; he won't have to deal with him again, thank goodness.

"And Dean and my nephew?"

"Oh," Sam says with a roll of his eyes, "they're out in the back." He shrugs a shoulder probably a half-hearted attempt at motioning the back of the house.

Balthazar thanks the kid, then just strolls deeper into the house, like he's familiar with the place. Gabriel follows him out through a backdoor, and discovers the depressing sight of the backyard.

It's not really a yard; it's more like the barren land from Beetlejuice. He's half expecting the giant worms to suddenly jump through the earth. He's just excited the Twilight Zone.

Beyond the designated area labeled "backyard," the scrap yard begins again, but this time, close to the back part of the house, a shack-like thing made out of rusted out zinc panels rises up from the sea of metal. And that's exactly where Balthazar is heading towards. Gabriel hurries his steps, not wanting to be left alone in the Wasteland.

As they get closer to the shed, Gabriel hears a voice echoing out of the open door. It's deep and rough and admittedly sexy.

"And who is Genghis Khan?" it asks over a continuous thudding of flesh impacting something solid, and grunting.

"Founder and—" another male voice answers, then there's another thud, and the male voice grunts, "emperor of the—" thud, grunt, "Mongol Empire."

"Good," the sexy voice praises, "And what was the Mongol Empire?"

Gabriel and Balthazar are already at the shed's entrance when the second voice answers. It's some blonde guy, big and muscled and shirtless, his sweat-glistened back to them as he pounds into a punching bag.

"It was—" thud, grunt, "—the largest contiguous—" thud, grunt, "land empire," thud, grunt, "in human history." And at those last words, he delivers one powerful punch, and the bag actually arcs upwards and then _flies_ across the shed and rolls to a stop near a pair of feet belonging to a guy who's sitting on a weight machine.

Gabriel recognizes the pale skin, the dark hair.

"I told you to change that hook, Dean," Cassy admonishes after staring down at the punching bag for several seconds.

Dean. Cassy called him Dean. And it's strange, because he somehow recognizes the guy's back.

"Castiel," Balthazar calls out, and both boys startle slightly and turn around to face them.

And that's when Gabriel decides that the world has just made him suffer through the worst trick in the book. Or the best. It's all about the perspective. Because the big guy who is apparently dating his nephew is also the kid who towed his truck. The dirty, greasy, gutter-smelling, grim-looking kid who towed his truck. Except now he looks less backwater hick-boy and more like some kind of Adonis; perfectly sculpted, and tanned, and glistening, and chest heaving, and eyes friggin' _glowing_.

He's stuck on the sight of Not-Joe Dean, doesn't notice Cassy get up from the weight machine and move to stand besides Not-Joe Dean.

"Hey Mr. Novak!" greets Not-Joe Dean, and then he dares to widen that mouth of his until there's nothing left but a blinding, white, straight-toothed smile. The guy could do toothpaste commercials. No computer manipulation needed. "Oh, and you!" and those devastating green eyes land on him. "It's great you're here, man. I wanted to apologize, 'bout yesterday. It was a pretty rough day for me, and I was on a time crunch, and then Uncle Bobby tells me I gotta go pick up a drowned car. Well, you understand, right? Bad days and all that jazz?"

"Dean." It's Cassy speaking, and Gabriel's eyes slowly shift over to his nephew. "This is my uncle, Gabriel."

And as the Not-Joe Dean reacts to the news, and Cassy and Balthazar start a conversation, Gabriel busies himself trying to hate this kid. Hate him for making him assume shit, for being so handsome underneath multiple layers of dirt and grease, for being so familiar with his nephew to actually run his fingers through the dark hair even with his uncles present. But he can't. He can't, because of Cassy. Cassy, who's 'Sad Sam & Honey' peepers are nowhere to be found. Instead there's this bright, happy _thing _deep in those blue eyes.

Instead, he just settles for being an immature asshole and doesn't accept _Dean's _apology.

Take that, stupid trickster world.

* * *

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.

**TBC**

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**GOOD? BAD? MEH? PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME FIND OUT! :)**


	21. Sucky November

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE.**

**A/N: OVER A HUNDRED REVIEWS! YOSH! SO HAPPY! THANK YOU ALL! AND THANK YOU ANONYMOUS REVIEWERS! AND CASISMYFAVORITE! YOU'RE AWESOME!**

**.**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XXI: THE ONE WHERE DEAN WINCHESTER HAS A SUCKY NOVEMBER**

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* * *

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Oh my God! I did it! I actually updated! *Sobs* I've been working so hard on this mother lovin' chapter! It's different. I don't know why my muse decided to write it this way, but it's done. It's not like a "haha this is so funny!" chapter. It's more of a "i feel so sorry for you Dean, but your misery kind of makes me giggle" chapter. I don't know. Just read. **

* * *

**.**

Dean has had a rather rough month.

.

* * *

So he woke up on the first of November in a strange motel room, with his boyfriend, his cousin, and this random pizza delivery guy. Not to mention there were heaping amounts of drugs and money.

After the minor freak out and hyperventilation episode and punching Andy the Delivery Guy to stop him from 'sampling' the product, they managed to screw their heads on straight right before the Calvary arrived.

* * *

_._

_._

"_Has anyone stepped out of the motel room?" asks a man with a thick, Austrian accent._

_Andy the Delivery Guy, Dean, Cas and Jo are all sitting right next to each other, along the length of one of the beds. They make quite a sight, one with still very damp clothes, one bruised, one wearing superhero pajamas, and another looking like the make-up monster had attacked her. Andy's hugging a balled up red hoodie to his chest, resolutely staring at the ground. Jo's leg pistons up and down, as she bites into the skin of her right thumb and looks straight ahead into the ether. Dean is leaning back on his outstretched hands, face pointed up at the water-stained ceiling. Cas is sitting with his side pressed as close as possible to his boyfriend's, he's picking at a frayed edge of a massive, bundled up trench coat resting on his lap, and is the only one who is maintaining unblinking eye contact with the suited man pacing with military precision in front of them. _

_The man squirms. "Well?"_

"_No," Dean sighs out._

"_Has anyone sampled the cocaine product found in both duffel bags?"_

"_Nope," murmurs Jo distractedly as Andy clutches his hoodie tighter to him, and Cas rips out a few threads from the trench coat. _

_The suited man makes a frustrated sound. "Children! Do you know who I am?"_

"_Sure," begins Dean, voice disturbingly pleasant as he drags his head forwards. "You're a nanny. A very scary, very tall, nanny."_

_The man scowls and opens his mouth, but gets cut off by Jo, who has stopped chewing on her thumb, and rests her hands between her now calm legs. "Let me guess what you're gonna say," and here she adapts the man's guttural tone and heavy accent, "'I've been to deserts, I've been to jungles, I've seen death and destruction, and the lowest points of humanity, and you are nothing but four snotty children pretending that your lives are hard.' Did I get that right?"_

"_Now listen here, you—" _

_Dean chuckles. "Mr. Nanny, what you have to understand is that you're a mutt; they probably found you in an MIT classroom. Me and Jo here? Our granddaddies' granddaddies started the game; we're the purebreds. And until we are of age, every single 'special' agent, of every single government agency that this fine country has to offer, has 'Looking after the Winchester/Harvelle children when ordered' added to their job description. Don't believe me? Look it up with your Director."_

_The man growls, actually growls. And he looks like he's five seconds away from exploding into a ranting diatribe, but he gets interrupted by another suited man, opening the motel's door and calling for him. _

"_Don't you dare move," he grunts, "I'll be back."_

_And it's something they none of them can control. It starts with a choking sound from Andy's throat, and a closed-mouth giggle from Cas, and then they're all tittering, actually tittering, at the man's unintentional Terminator quote._

_The man is just one of the many government agents that had been sent to them, once Bobby and Ellen had managed to establish contact. Sure, there were no bodies to dispose of, but at the mention of the drugs, Uncle Bobby had insisted that professionals come in and make it all disappear. And who were they to say no? _

_There is a loud chopping sound of a helicopter's rotor blades cutting through the air. It seems to move closer and closer, until the sound becomes incredibly deafening. Dean suspects the helicopter has landed on the parking lot. The Austrian man comes back inside the room, this time with a team wearing white overalls. The men in white spread throughout the room, each carrying a piece of cleaning equipments. _

"_Children!" he shouts over the racket, "Come with me! Let's get to the chopper!"_

_Jo snorts loudly and Dean kind of just splutters as Cas and Andy wheeze out their laughter._

* * *

_._

_._

So, crisis averted, and everyone returned to Sioux Falls safe and mostly sound.

And what of the money that was supposed to be in the second duffel bag?

* * *

.

.

_From the safety of the Singer porch, Jo, Dean and Cas all wave goodbye to Andy, whose epic stoner van Bobby had towed from the Masters residence when the children explained about the extra delivery guy. Andy is in the process of getting on the driver's seat, before he pauses to wave goodbye with his right arm, his left arm occupied with holding the balled up hoodie in the crook of his elbow like a football. _

_Once Andy's gone, they all turn back to the front door. They find it unlocked, and so they push their way inside. _

_A blur suddenly materializes out of nowhere, flies down the hall, and attaches itself to Dean's torso. It leaves Dean wheezing, but he doesn't complain as he strokes his little brother's hair. The boy babbles on and on about how they are all idiots and making him all worried and please don't make him go through that again. _

_Bobby's the next one to reach the foyer. He's got his grumpy face on, but the look in his eye is one of relief, so Dean and Jo know their safe. Now Ellen…Jo gets to deal with that one._

_The blonde girl grimaces as she takes a couple of careful steps towards her mother, and mutters a meek, "Hi, mom."_

_Aunt Ellen just tuts loudly and grapples her daughter into a crushing one-armed hug. Her free arm whips out and catches Dean's own, flinging him towards her as well, and the force of his weight should tip the petite women over, but they somehow stand their ground like immovable statues. "Castiel, get your butt over here!" she scolds, voice muffled by her daughter's wave of wild, dirty and frizzy blonde hair. _

"_Ok," the brunette mutters, and he gets close enough for the woman's hand to catch the back of his head and somehow squash it right in the tiny space between Jo and Dean. _

"_You are not, I repeat, are not, allowed into the Masters residence ever again."_

"_Fair enough," Jo acquiesces with a happy sigh. _

"_Ok," both Dean and Cas chorus as well. _

_And with explicit instructions for Cas to hurry up and say his goodbyes, because Bobby is going to take him over to his uncle's, all three teenagers clamber up the stairs, Sammy following them. _

_The kid gets a faceful of door, though, as Jo slams it right before he can enter. At Sam's cry of indignation, the girl explains, "Sorry! Getting naked over here! No little boys allowed!"_

"_But Cas and Dean are in there!"_

"_Pshaw, squirt!" and Jo actually pronounces 'pshaw.' Puhsh-awwe._

_As he bitches at the unfairness of it all, the older teens ignore him in favor of unraveling the trench coat and letting the contents that had been carefully hidden inside spill to the bed in a heap. _

_Cas lets out a heavy breath. _

_Jo whimpers._

_Dean gulps loudly. "Ok," he whispers shakily, "somebody say it."_

"_Say what?" Jo whispers back. _

"_You know, 'it'."_

"_Godammit Dean, makes sense!" she hisses._

_Before the moment dissolves into a sotto-voiced argument, Cas answers with an awestruck, "Three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars."_

_A hush descends upon them. _

"_Say that again," Dean chokes out._

"_Three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars."_

"_Oh baby, again!"_

"_Three hundred and seventy five thousand dollars split three ways, means one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars for each of us." Andy was currently in possession of the last $125k, conveniently hidden in the red hoodie. _

_Dean makes this weird choking, whimpering sound in the back of his throat. _

"_I think you boyfriend just came in his pants, Cas," Jo mutters distractedly as she strokes her fingers over President Jackson's face._

* * *

_._

_._

What? An entire night completely wiped from their minds, waking up in various states of strange dress, discovering the motel they were hiding in was in _Wisconsin._ As in: _Land of the Cheese, Wisconsin. _The least they deserved was a little monetary compensation. Yep, half a million dollars split four-ways was enough to settle their frayed nerves.

Since Halloween had been a Wednesday, and that day had been the end of Thursday, it was unanimously decided that no one was going to school on Friday. And so Cas, Dean, and Jo, all recuperated in their own homes over the long weekend.

And that would've been the end of that, right?

Well, no, not really. Because the government-grade rescue mission opened up a little can of worms Dean had kept away from Cas labeled, 'Family Business.'

Sure, the blonde's talked to his boyfriend about how his dad worked for the government, and that Uncle Bobby was actually a friend his dad met through work, and Aunt Ellen was a woman Uncle Bobby met through work as well. But all of that did not excuse getting so much attention.

Dean, for some reason, didn't think Cas would make such a big deal of it all. But he was wrong.

* * *

.

.

_On Sunday morning, Dean arrives unannounced to the Novak residence, dressed in his best church clothes and the nice leather shoes he finally bought the day before the Halloween Debacle of 2012. Cas is wearing long pajama pants and nothing else as he eats a bowl of Corn Pops on the kitchen island. He looks particularly delectable, especially since it's been a couple of days since they've even touched each other. _

_Balthazar is sitting on the other side of the island, sipping at a cup of coffee and reading The New York Times. "Cassy darling, put on some clean clothes and go to church with the man."_

"_No," the brunette mumbles, and continues staring resolutely down at his food, ignoring him entirely._

_Something inside Dean feels like it's being stretched the wrong way. Probably his heart._

_Cas continues to ignore his confused and pleading stare. _

_Yep, definitely his heart._

"_Cas," Dean says, stretching out the syllable and making it sound completely insecure. _

_His boyfriend sighs and gets up from his stool. He grabs his still full bowl and moves towards him without making eye contact. _

"_Look, Dean—" he begins, but then he seems to trip on his own feet, and he lurches forward. Dean acts out instinctively, reaching out to stop him from meeting the ground. In the commotion, the plastic bowl in the 17-year-old's hands goes flying, the milk and cereal inside arching out in the air, before landing in a wild splash all over Dean's clothes, hair, and face. _

_The blonde teenager splutters. _

"_Oh no," mumbles Castiel. "You're covered in milk," he continues unexcitedly, using the crumpled paper towel in his hand to dab slightly on his neck as Mr. Novak grabs a washcloth and wets it in the sink. _

"_It's too much of a mess," declares Balthazar after cleaning most of Dean's hair. "Cassy, time to give back the boy some of the clothes you've stolen from him. Sorry boy, seems church is out of the question today."_

_Dean gives a small grunt of acknowledgement as he stares down at his new shoes, now sporting splatters of milk. Castiel starts moving out of the kitchen and towards his room, so he follows. _

_The small distance is awkward, Dean staring at the back of his boyfriend's head, willing the guy to turn around and give him one of his favorite invisible smiles. No such thing happens, and their trip ends when they're both inside Cas's room. _

"_Look, Cas," Dean begins quietly, "I don't know what I did but—"_

"_Oh hush now, Dean," Cas interrupts and Dean's face whips towards his boyfriend, who brushes past him to get to the door and turn the lock on it. _

"_Wha—"  
_

"_Shhh," the brunette says, moving back towards the blonde with calculated movements, like a predator towards prey. Dean gulps. "We've got to be very quiet about this," he continues in a guttural whisper when he's barely a few millimeters away from the larger teenager. The warmth of their breaths mingles together, and Dean knows, he knows, his pupils are blown just as wide as Cas's. "And it's got to be done quickly," he finishes, placing slender pale hands on either side of the blonde's neck, the thumbs stroking the edge of the jaw. "You up for it?"_

"_Oh God, yes," whines Dean. Thank goodness his angel wasn't mad at him; he doesn't know what he would've had to do if—_

"_Take off your clothes," Castiel orders, and Dean doesn't know how he does it, but his friggin' shirt with the hundred tiny buttons somehow disappears from his torso and appears somewhere in the corner of the room. His pants just drop to the ground on the spot. _

_Castiel presses a warm hand on the center of his chest and pushes until Dean is stumbling out of his shoes and moving backwards towards the blessed king bed and he just lets himself fall on the fluffy mattress. He quickly scrambles back on his elbows and heels though, as Cas gets on the bed, and just starts crawling towards him. Friggin' crawling. His shoulder blades shift beneath pale flesh with every move he makes and Dean's mind just shuts down as those dark blue eyes stare hungrily at him. It's when Dean's finally against the headboard, that he lets his boyfriend cage him. The guy grabs on to the edge of the board with both hands, and then shifts until he's kneeling over the blonde's lap, and Dean's looking up at him, so close, as Cas stares down at him, bottom pink lip between his teeth. _

"_Dean," Cas breathes out, his cut glass voice doing things to him. His own thick hands automatically make their way to his boyfriend's hips, clutching at the defined bone, before letting them run up and down the pale back._

"_Dean," Cas says again, and this time Dean's eyelids flutter closed as he pushes himself up, mouth seeking mouth, but the brunette pulls back._

"_Dean," Cas says for a third time, but this time it's followed by, "Why in the world would the government of the United States of America spend time, money, and personnel in the procurement of a handful of small town teenagers?"_

_The sound of a record scratching literally plays across his brain as his eyes pop wide open again. He pulls back, trying to get a better look at his boyfriend, and finds Cas sporting his No Nonsense look. The one where his face is all horizontal lines and his eyes are a flat, dull blue. _

"_Uhhh…wha?" _

* * *

_._

_._

Oh, Cas got him good. The devious bastard.

Apparently the guy knew how Dean would try to just not talk about what the mother loving Government was doing ushering them out of _Wisconsin_ in a _helicopter._

After that first question, Cas moved away from him far enough that Dean could start thinking with his upstairs head, and then just kept probing and probing, not taking 'no' for an answer.

When the brunette stopped talking, Dean managed about two-point-four seconds of silence, before his lips opened wide and let out a bout of so much verbal diarrhea, he was sure the town mayor had been just minutes away from ordering an aqueduct system be built around him.

Yes. He was that weak in front of Cas's No Nonsense look. It was like Sammy's puppy eyes, but like, twice as bad.

And Castiel learned that Dean had plans after high school, and they never included college.

Needless to say, when the seventeen-year-old found out that his boyfriend was going to follow in his father's footsteps as soon as he turned legal, he had scooted even further backwards.

So much for an awesome quickie.

* * *

.

.

"_Cas?" Dean asks, hand twitching towards his boyfriend who is sitting in the middle of the bed right now. _

"_I…" he answers, looking down, locks of dark hair falling over his brow and hiding his eyes. "…I need to be alone, for now."_

"_Wh-what?" the blonde's eyes widen, a tremor flashing down his spine at the pale squared shoulders. _

"_Dean," the brunette answers, and there's a bite to his voice now. "Dean, our relationship has a time limit."_

"_No! No it doesn't! Dude, I'm joining a secret government agency not disappearing off the face of the earth!"_

"_It's the same thing!" protests immediately._

"_It's not!" Dean answers back, voice rising unexpectedly. Cas's face whips up at that, and the blonde instantly feels ashamed. _

"_Sorry," he mumbles, eyes moving down to the dip between his boyfriend's clavicles. It shifts as Castiel swallows and opens his mouth to speak. _

"_I need some time," Cas whispers, and all Dean can do is nod and just awkwardly shimmy his way out of the now uncomfortably large bed. Makes him feel foolish for taking so long to get off. _

_Once he's finally out, he reaches for the first piece of clothing he finds—his milk-splattered slacks—and zips and buttons himself hurriedly. He doesn't bother with a shirt or shoes, completely uncaring that the temperature outside is at freeze-your-nipples-off degrees. _

_On the way down the stairs, Dean finds Vivi making her way up. Genevieve had been giving him one of her wide, friendly smiles and looked like she was about to say something, but then her expression changes quickly to one of confusion when he just turns his face away as they pass each other. Dean doesn't care how disrespectful that is._

_The temperature outside really is too cold to handle, but Dean doesn't care, just marches doggedly towards the Impala. In the back of his mind, a voice tells him that he's left his keys right on the farmhouse's entrance table, that he's locked out, but he doesn't care, just wants to reach his car, just wants to grab on to the door handle and pull at it and sit on the leather seats—_

"_Dean!" the cry is rough, desperate, and Dean can't help but turn around. As soon as he does, Castiel is crashing into him, arms wrapping like iron vices around his chest, fingers digging harshly into his back, face burying into the crook of his neck. The added weight of his boyfriend unbalances him, and Dean clutches at the backs of pale shoulders as they tip sideways and land on the cold, deadened grass of the front yard. _

_The breath is slightly knocked out of him, but he ignores the pain and takes one big gulp of air. "Cas?"_

"_I don't need time. I lied. Don't need time. I don't know why I said that. That was the stupidest thing to say in the history of stupid things to say. Forget I said anything, please forget I said anything." The words pouring out of his boyfriend's mouth and into his neck trip over each other desperately, and all Dean can do is hold on as tight as possible because his heart is beating so wildly, that it hurts, it actually hurts, and he's never experienced a pain that felt so good. "How could I doubt us? No, no, no, we're going to last five-ever."_

"_Five-ever?" Dean reaches a hand and digs it into the dark locks of hair at the back of his boyfriend's head. Cas pulls back, slips his arms from under Dean's back, shifts his legs so that they're straddling the blonde, and rests his weight on the toned stomach. _

_He's all wide eyes and serious pout when he explains, "'Cause five is more than four."_

_And Dean laughs. He can't help it, just laughs as loudly as possible, jostling the seventeen-year-old. He doesn't care just how cold the ground is, doesn't care that he's shivering, doesn't care that Cas's pale skin is looking slightly blue, he just reaches out for the back of his boyfriend's neck and tugs him down forcefully. He crashes their lips together, licks his way into Cas and reconquers every inch of his mouth. _

_Castiel molds himself over Dean's body, hands fluttering over every part they can reach as he responds to the kiss ever so eagerly. _

"_Hey!" Mr. Novak's shout and a pair of female giggles sound so very distant, even though they're coming from not ten feet away. "No sex in my front yard!"_

* * *

_._

_._

Thankfully, nothing else happened on that Sunday. Not so thankfully, they didn't get a chance to make out.

So they managed to survive some fucked up Halloween, and Cas didn't run screaming for the hills when Dean told him that in less than two years, he would basically be given a license to kill.

And it was all well and good. And the Monday after started wonderfully, with everyone getting up from bed early, having time to eat breakfast at a nice, slow pace, picking up Cas and drooling all over the sight of him because _goddamn_ those pants the guy was wearing were perfectly tight in all the right places.

They get to school on time, and Dean managed to find a parking spot really close to the building's entrance, and it was all sunshine and daisies for about six minutes and twenty five seconds.

And then Coach Turner barked out his name and ordered him to the guys' gym locker room for an emergency meeting.

* * *

.

.

"_What do you mean we're out of the competitions this year?!"_

_An upset wrestling team is a sight to behold. A weaker man would've cowered as the wrestlers unconsciously start to loom towards their coach. Rufus Turner did no such thing. Dean respects him for that. It doesn't stop him from shouting along with the rest of his teammates._

"_Calm down!" growls Turner, and the voices lower. "Give me some goddamn space! And don't you dare try your threatening techniques on me!" That cows the lot of them, and they shuffle back awkwardly._

"_Look," the older man begins in a much calmer voice, "investigations on the perpetrator of the spiked punch at the Masters Halloween party are still ongoing. Every single member of this here wrestling team was present at that party, and was subsequently affected by the cocktail of drugs that got put in the drink."_

"_But we're victims!" clamors someone in the back, and a chorus of agreement is heard._

"_Until they find who's to blame for this, this school is disqualified from participating in any type of competition." Another bout of silence descends, this time it's full of unsuppressed anger. "This isn't an excuse to stop your training," he says awkwardly, trying to cut through the silence. All teenagers stare up at him. "Practices will continue on schedule. And we'll do mock matches on the days we were supposed to compete."_

* * *

_._

_._

Needless to say, Dean came out of the meeting suffering from a severe bout of depression.

He dragged himself from class to class; it was all a blur to him. He wasn't the only one shell shocked, though. Here and there were students from different clubs, associations and sports teams looking pale and dazed; like someone hit them on the side of the head with the heavy Chemistry textbook.

He found Cas walking hurriedly away from an upset Meg, and when Dean asked him what that was about, Cas just says four words. "She betrayed our friendship." The words were like doom, each syllable felt like a sucker punch to his stomach even though he was talking about Masters.

Shitty day just turned just plain wrong because his boyfriend was upset, too.

Things turned even worse when in his class just before lunch, the teacher gave out a test. The test she announced the Monday before Halloween. Yeah, like anyone was ready for that.

Right after he turned in the hideous mess of a test, five minutes before the lunch bell was supposed to ring, an alarm system started to screech.

Because the cafeteria kitchens caught fire.

And the students were forced to partake in the emergency menu; a PB&J sandwich, a bag of apple chips, and a warm water bottle. For someone with a high protein diet like him, that was like feeding him two water crackers.

Cas managed to sneak around the school hallways and bought him from the vending machines a Baby Ruth and two Snickers, one of which got stolen by Jo. He called her a bitch; she punched one of his kidneys.

Mercifully, Principal Moseley decided to just call the day a bad job and released the student population right after lunch period.

Dean was so glad he could've praised God. Could've, was the key term. Because, when he stepped out into the parking lot, well…

* * *

.

.

"_My Baby."_

_Dean's words are brittle and small, and that is the only thing his mouth is capable of saying, because everything is too complicated, too jumbled up to form into words._

_Jo is right in front of him whispering an endless string of 'Oh, my God's under her breath._

_Cas is right beside him, holding unto his hand, and saying, "Oh, Dean," in a soft voice, like the situation is unfortunate but not the end of the world. _

_But he's not listening, not listening, because his car is hurt. He takes a trembling step forwards, and then another. Jo's 'Oh, my God's turn panicky._

_Dean's roughened hand glides over the intact trunk, over the gleaming surface of the driver's side doors. And then the metal bends and folds and the perfect black paint is gone and the glass of the shattered headlight crunches under his boots. Distantly, he can hear Jo's shrill voice ordering Cas to not leave Dean's side._

_There is a large 2012 Dodge Ram invading the same spaces as his Baby. The front right corner is bent, too and Larry Davis, the cockiest, most wannabe bad boy Junior is standing on the other side of the crash. _

"_Wow. Yeah. Sorry about that," Davis says with an exagerated wince, hands on his hips, pushing back on the shiny pleather jacket. _

"_Sorry?" Dean rasps out. Something inside him finally clicks back into place, and the daze finally leaves his brain. His vision is slowly starting to fuzz and turn red around the corners, there's tension lacing itself around his shoulders, and his brain is officially submerging itself in anger. "Sorry?!" he barks out incredulously. "That's all you have to say?!"_

"_Don't let go of him Cas! I'll go get someone!" Jo shrieks, and then there are hands slipping under his leather jacket and grabbing unto the back of his jeans. _

"_What more do you want me to say, man?" Davis's eyebrows rise and he gives out a lopsided smirk as his tone turns mocking. "Please, oh please, Mr. Queer and Mighty Superjock! Please forgive me from crashing into your ancient car."_

* * *

_._

_._

Next thing he knew, he was inside one of the classrooms, face being held by his boyfriend's hands, as Tessa, the school counselor spouted out a string of soothing and comforting sentences.

Apparently, after Davis insulted Baby, Dean snapped, and just kind of flew over the crashed vehicles. He would've made it to the other side, if Cas hadn't braced himself, one foot against each fender, and yanked at Dean's pants, holding him back from doing any kind of harm to the punk.

Quite a few curious students had shrieked in surprise at the sudden wild movement, and many of them gave into their flight instinct when Dean roared.

Davis had nearly pissed himself.

No one crashed into Baby and then called her ancient.

Since no actual fighting happened, Principal Moseley just let him go with a very scary look in her eyes as she warned that the next time something like this happened, he would get suspended. After all, she still hadn't forgotten about the Autumn Incident of Dean Winchester's Sophomore Year.

The teenagers left the high school quickly after that, and when they picked up Sam, that smart kid just winced at the sight of the damage and then got in and kept his mouth shut.

As soon as they got to the Salvage Yard, Dean wandered into the bowels of endless junk, and immersed himself in the painstaking process of fixing his Baby back into shiny perfection.

Thankfully, the rest of the week turned a little more bearable. Sure, Cas avoided Meg like the plague, his teammates bitched about getting thrown out of the competition, everyone still suffered from a general feeling of we-survived-last-week's-shit daze, and shit still kept getting in the way of sharing with his boyfriend, but it was definitely bearable. Blue balls excluded.

Until Saturday. On Saturday, Dean and Aunt Ellen were taken as hostages in a bank robbing.

* * *

.

.

"_Sixty four bottles of beer on the wall, sixty four bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, sixty three bottles of beer on the wall. Sixty three bottles of beer on the—"_

"_Oh my God! Will you shut up!" Screams one of the lady bank tellers, effectively cutting off Dean's bored singing. _

_They are all stuck inside the bank safe, because when the robbers came into the bank they were followed by police sirens not five minutes later. With their weaponry, and the multiple civilian hostages, the situation had been too dangerous to try and fight back. So Ellen and Dean had been forced to play the docile roles. But as time wore on, all pretenses of patience disappeared._

"_Dean, honey, come here." That's Aunt Ellen, waving him over towards the safe door, where she's been pacing for the last half hour or so._

_Is it really that hard for the police to negotiate a hostage situation, stop the robbers, and save the money before midday? It's already two and he's supposed to be working out with his boyfriend right now. _

_When he finally gets close enough, he notices his aunt's Eyebrow. The Eyebrow is feared by many. When it arches high and twitches the way it's doing now, shit's about to get serious. _

_The last time that Ellen's Eyebrow had arched like that while still being active with the agency, the leader of an anarchist organization, along with the entirety of his chateau, had exploded. _

_As it is, she instructs Dean to jump one of the robbers, take him down and strip him of weapons after she lures him into the safe by pretending she's having an asthma attack._

* * *

_._

_._

It took about ten minutes for both of them to dispatch the robbers, and make sure the civilians were safe.

When they were finally out of the bank, at three in the friggin' afternoon, Aunt Ellen proceeded to tear the police force a new one for their incompetence at handling a simple problem. She was still in a tizzy when they left to go grocery shopping at the supermarket, and ranted the whole trip back to their house.

He could hear her grumbling to herself as she put away the groceries, even over Cas's worrying. His boyfriend had been too upset that day to actually do any training. It was impossible for them to sneak away from under his Aunt and Uncle's gaze, so Dean just let Cas innocently glomp him whenever they got separated more than five feet until Mr. Novak came to pick him up.

On Sunday he woke up with a Charlie Horse that didn't let up until dinner time.

By Monday, Dean was already tired of life in general. He woke up and got ready to go to school for the sake of routine. His day brightened once Cas made an appearance, but he still braced himself for wide-ranging unpleasantness. It was all for naught, because the day turned out pretty simple.

The only highlight had been that Cas and Meg had a reconciliation.

* * *

.

.

"_For fuck's sake, Novak! Will you stop running away from me?! And Winchester! Stop helping him escape!"_

_Apparently, it's the third time that Monday that Cas turns and takes another direction whenever he finds Meg ahead of him. Castiel stops just a few paces after starting the evasive tactic right in the middle of the hallway. _

_Dean takes on the chick's heated glare with a glower of his own. It doesn't matter how much he wants to ignore her too, he still has to play the part of the dutiful boyfriend. If Cas doesn't want to speak to her, then he's not going to let her speak with Cas. _

"_Why in the world would Cas want to stop and talk to you?" he asks, voice derisive as he steps closer to her. No point in having the whole school listening in on their conversation. _

_Meg's lips form into a snarl, her black eyes narrowing. She jams her hands into her black leather jacket, and steps closer to Dean as well. "Listen here, boy-wonder. I'm not talking to you so why don't you just flutter off and ooze machismo over by that corner?"_

"_Bitch, you drugged us," he growls right in her face, nose tips touching. _

"_Fuc—"_

"_Why would you do that?" Cas's soft-spoken question interrupts their hostility as they both turn to look at him._

_Meg's head jerks back when she notices how close he is from her. Those blue eyes plow unmercifully into her own and she flinches, taking one step back when he takes one forwards. And then Cas is moving closer to the petite cheerleader, looming over her as she continues backtracking until she hits a wall. _

"_Why would you do that?" he asks again, this time his tone is laced with hurt. "I thought you were my friend." _

"_I am your friend!" she protests, and Dean watches Cas take one last step towards her. _

"_Then why hurt us like that?" Cas's eyes are wide, expression filled with betrayal and confusion. _

_Meg flinches. "I didn't!"_

"_We woke up in another state—"_

"_I didn't spike that punch!"_

"_I was wearing someone else's clothes—"_

"_Sheriff Mills ruled me out!"_

"_We don't remember a thing about that night—"_

"_Well, neither can I!"_

"_We could've died!"_

"_Oh, don't be so melodramatic! Besides, I 'could've died,' too."_

_Meg's last words make both Dean and Cas startle. The blue-eyed teenager tips his head to the side, trying to understand, but Dean just blurts out an incredulous, "What?"_

_Meg tsks in annoyance, face crumpling even more with an even deeper scowl. Her black eyes glint as they shift from Cas's confused face to his own startled one. She sighs and turns back to the pale boy._

"_Look, I drank from that punch bowl, too. I woke up in Furry McElroy's backyard…"_

_Both Dean and Cas flinch. 'Furry' McElroy is an overweight senior with serious body hair issues. _

"…_locked inside his chicken coop…"_

_The guy happens to have a strange fixation with chickens and everything from his shirts to his school notebook is made up of poultry-related paraphernalia. _

"…_naked."_

_He's also a total pervert, and carries around a binder full of hentai drawings. _

_Castiel forces his arms around Meg, pulls her towards him and then proceeds to smother her as he hugs her tight. _

"_I am so sorry you had to go through that," Cas says into her hair. Dean rolls his eyes. Yeah, sure, her Morning After The Halloween Debacle sucks at the same shitty level as their own Morning After, but that was no reason for his boyfriend to get all handsy with her. _

_Meg hugs Cas back. "Even if I had spiked the punch bowls, I would've never let you drink something laced with so much crap, Clarence," she says, one hand cupping the back of his dark head. Her nickname for his startles a huff of amusement from his boyfriend._

_It irks Dean. So call him a selfish bastard. He doesn't care. "Ok, great! You guys are 'BFF's four-evr' again! Now let go, Masters, me and my boyfriend gotta get to class."_

_Her black eyes peer over Cas's shoulder. "He's the one hugging me, dickwad."_

"_Meg, please don't call my boyfriend offensive names."_

"_Ok, ok! Sorry," she apologizes quickly before burrowing her face into the side of Castiel's face. And then she raises a fist behind him and gives Dean the finger. _

_Dean's eye twitches._

* * *

_._

_._

Alas, that dubious silver lining darkened overnight.

* * *

.

.

"—_I repeat: Due to a boiler room incident at the Roosevelt High School at 6:00 P.M., the property will remain closed for the next two weeks. Ninth and Tenth grade students must report themselves to Lincoln High School. Eleventh and Twelve graders must report to Washington High School. Due to the emergency nature of this situation, all students are allowed to arrive at their assigned schools no later than ten tomorrow morning. All students are expected to arrive on time for the following days…"_

_Dean lets go of the wireless phone, watching dispassionately as it falls on the couch, and bounces to the ground. Even from that distance, he can still hear the automated message's tinny voice. _

"_God, just strike me now," the blonde begs to the heavens. The heavens don't answer. _

* * *

_._

_._

Washington High was on the other side of the goddamn town. About two hours later, he got a call from a frazzled Ash begging Dean to allow him to carpool with him and his cousin and boyfriend.

The blonde teenager refused the first three times, but then the bastard of a mullet-head called Jo and she locked him in a chokehold until he relented.

* * *

.

.

_It's raining. Like, time-to-pair-off-the-animals-and-build-ourselves-an-ark raining._

_The Impala's doing everything she can to keep the downpour out of her windshield, but all Dean can see are the two blurry red spots of the car ahead of him. And God fuckin' Jesus, is that a 90-year-old driving the thing? Because he can't push his Baby no faster than 10 miles per hour lest he crashes into the back of it. _

_Suddenly, both he and Cas get shoved to the sides as Ash pushes his way through, reaching for the radio. The guy's ass is in Dean's face, and he shoves at it to get it away from him. From the other side of Ash, he can hear Cas grunt in surprise, and the blonde winces even as he berates._

"_What the hell, Ash?! Get back in your seat! And stop touching my radio!"_

_It's Jo who comes to his defense. Always Jo. "Leave him alone, Dean. He just wants some music."_

"_Yeah, just want some nice, early morning, autumn rain music," Ash singsongs as he pulls out his mp3 from his hoodie pocket._

"_Dude!" Dean says, futilely attempting to shove him back. "My car's from the sixties. It doesn't have a jack for that thing."_

"_Ash, please be careful with Dean's car," Cas murmurs from the other side. _

"_Ain't got nothing but love for Dean's baby girl, Cas," Ash answers, while ejecting the Metallica cassette from the tape deck. "And, to prove to you that anything is possible…" he continues as he pulls out what looks like a black tape from his pocket as well, "…this right here? This is my own homemade mp3 cassette adapter, my esteemed friend."_

_Dean grumbles in annoyance, but lets Jo's friend continue fiddling with the radio as he tries to maneuver through the rain, the slick roads, and ultraslow drivers. _

"_There we go," Ash announces, and then pure evil starts blasting from the speakers. _

"_I FEEL SO GOOD I FEEL SO NUMB, YEAH!"_

"_Fuck!" Dean curses, and he can see Cas's legs jump as he startles as much as him._

"_Oh my God, I love this song!" Jo screeches from the back, and Ash starts to head bang, right fucking there, with half of his body hanging in the front seat._

"_Get the fuck back! Turn that thing off! Ash!"_

_Dean starts shoving at Ash with renewed aggression, and the guy's hair is everywhere, and Jo is singing along to that monstrosity at the top of her lungs, and Cas is squishing himself against his door and as far away as possible from the whole scene, and all of a sudden the tires of the car ahead of him screech._

_The sixteen-year-old's reflexes are unbelievably fast, but even though he steps on the breaks immediately, it's still too late, and there's the jolt and metallic shriek of a sudden crash, and he can feel the burn of the deployed air bags on his face. _

_In the following silence, you can hear nothing but heaving breaths, and then Jo, Cas, Ash's simultaneous 'Oh, fuck's as Dean's vision blurs to red. _

* * *

.

.

He had wanted to murder Ash and then bury him under Cas's peony tree. Luckily for the idiot, Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen arrived before any real harm could come to the precious mullet.

It turned out that the car ahead of him was being driven by a 78-year-old Mrs. Gloria Carpenter, who kept moaning and groaning at the horrifying pain in her neck she said was caused by the accident. Thankfully, Bobby intervened and managed to make a deal with the old lady. Not so thankfully, the deal included Dean fixing her car for free in the next forty eight hours. Paint job and everything.

Aunt Ellen continued on with Jo, Ash, and Cas towards Washington High, while Dean helped Bobby tow the old lady's car and followed them back to the Salvage Yard. There was no way he was going to fix that biddy's car and his Baby in forty-eight hours if he wasted time on school.

When they got back to Bobby's property, they got the cars into one of the wider sheds, and Dean got started on them as his uncle sweet talked the granny into a pair of galoshes, under an umbrella, and over towards the house.

The day after found Dean working with Mrs. Gloria's car before daylight broke. At midday, he switched to his Baby. By then, he was already tired, dirty, hungry, and thirsty. And nothing in life could ever bring him joy again.

A couple hours later, Sam returned from middle school.

* * *

.

.

"_Hey Dean," Sammy greets over by the shed's entrance. _

"_Sam," Dean grunts concentrating on the Impala. _

"_Still working on them, huh."_

_Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, still working." _

"_Oh," is his little brother's responds. There's an awkward moment of silence as Sammy walks closer towards Mrs. Gloria's car, and starts inspecting it like he actually knows what he's looking for._

"_Out with it," the green-eyed teenager orders tiredly, not in the mood to play around. _

"_Today's the Genetic Opera," the kid blurts out._

"_Huh?"_

"_Remember last month? You bribed me with tickets to the Genetic Opera? You bought me the tickets on the Saturday before the uh, the Halloween Party over at Masters."_

_Dean vaguely remembers a gothicky store and a cardboard sign with a very pale man with electric blue eyes holding up a glowing gun-like needle thing, with the word 'TESTIFY!' typed in yellow above him. _

"_Yeah. I did. See that, Sammy? I'm a man of my word. No go do homework, I gotta work on Baby."_

"_But Dean," Sammy whines, and Dean doesn't want to look, because he knows those brown eyes are going to be wide and shiny and pleading, and he really can't handle that right now. _

"_Sammy, please," he begs. _

"_It's Sam, and I really want you to go with me!"_

"_Sam! Look at me! I'm filthy. It's going to take hours for me to get myself cleaned up."_

"_Then it's perfect! The screening is at midnight! We'll make it on time if you start a shower now."_

"_I also gotta finish that old lady's car before tomorrow, and there are still some things I gotta work on before I give it a paint job," he pauses, helplessly looking around the shed, as if there was some time machine hanging somewhere that would help him speed things up, but there's nothing, so his shoulders slump. "I just can't."_

"_But we don't share anymore, Dean," Sam protests miserably._

"_I know," he answers, and an idea strikes him so hard, he actually looks kind of bewildered. Just because Dean can't go out, doesn't mean that both his brother and his boyfriend have to suffer for it. "But you know what? You don't share with Cas at all. You should invite him. He'll say yes."_

"_He's not my boyfriend, Dean."_

"_Yeah, but he's like, your brother-in-law. So share and create a bond over girlie movies, or something," he says. "And tell Cas to take pictures of any scalpel whores for me, will ya?" he continues, winking saucily before turning back to the Impala. _

"_Ugh! Dean! Wait, how do you know about scalpel whores?"_

* * *

_._

_._

Turned out that not only Castiel accepted Sam's invitation when he arrived home, but Genevieve and Xica overheard the conversation, and also wanted to join in the fun. So they made some calls, and managed to secure a couple of tickets.

Meaning that his boyfriend and brother, and two of the coolest pair of chicks he had ever met were all going on a night out in town, and he got stuck fixing a car that smelled like mothballs inside.

He was alone, sexually frustrated, and cold.

Awesome.

And then Uncle Bobby hollered at him to go pick up a drowned car.

* * *

.

.

"_It's actually 'Low-key'…"the owner of the Caddy says. _

_Dean kind of just wants to slap him. Who cares if he pronounces the ridiculous name correctly or not?_

_In his mind he's imagining his angel and his baby bro all getting ready to have fun, probably deciding which random—and admittedly catchy—songs they'll be singing along to. He comes back to reality as he forces himself to wade into the mini-lake. _

_Great. Now he's alone, sexually frustrated, soaking wet from the waist down, and fucking freezing'._

* * *

_._

_._

He managed to fix Mrs. Gloria's car at around two in the morning. It took him over an hour and a half to wash off the worst of the grease and stink. Dean was actually so tired, he accidentally tumbled into Jo's bed instead of his own.

Gratefully, all she did was shift to wrap herself like an octopus around him. He started to drift to the dull sound of an arriving car engine, and his sluggish mind managed to produce the final musing that it must have been Cas and his aunts dropping off Sammy, before it completely shut down on him.

The next morning, Aunt Ellen took one good look at Dean's zombie state, and gave the keys to her cherry-red '72 Chevelle to her daughter, declaring Jo the designated driver for the day.

He didn't even protest.

Moving half of his high school to another one was a half-assed idea. Thankfully, that meant that he and Cas disappeared into Washington High's crowd without anyone looking at them twice.

* * *

.

.

_Dean's wired. He knows this. When he barely sleeps he goes through these stages. First, he's so tired he sways like a drunkard. Then, sound and vision comes and goes. After, the mind just gives up on trying to shut down and every single light up there turns back on. His eyes fly open, all his muscles tense, and he can feel and hear and see everything. For the next twelve hours, he's overcharged._

_He laughs a little too hard, actually analyzes what the teachers are imparting and tries to give his input, he eats a little too much, refuses to let go of his boyfriend, and keeps trying to start conversations with random students. _

_Cas actually has experience with this. It already happened once, back in August. So he knows that the solution is to let him run himself ragged. So during school, his boyfriend herds him as best he can, lets him blow off energy without over doing it._

_On the ride back, Cas and Jo turn the radio as high as possible, has him sing along to all the songs, until his throat starts feeling scratchy. Back in the salvage yard, he's convinced to slip out of his current clothes and into sweats. Dean tries to get him into bed, uncaring that the room's door is wide open, but the pale teenager slips through the cage of his arms and runs out to the gym/shed._

_Dean follows. When he gets there, Cas immediately makes a grab for his arms, and secures the boxing wraps on his hands, before unleashing him upon the unsuspecting punching bag._

_At the same time, the seventeen-year-old settles on a weight machine, and starts quizzing him on random history facts, trying to get his brain to work as hard as his body is. _

* * *

_._

_._

He crashed about an hour after he officially met Cas's Uncle Gabriel.

If pressed, it would be impossible for him to remember exactly how that meeting went.

Although, for some reason, he couldn't shake the impression of general assholeness that insinuated itself in his brain whenever he thought of the man.

* * *

.

.

_He dares to hope. It's finally Friday and he dares to hope it's going to be a good day. His baby's ready to go, Jo's already waiting in the car, he's getting there, it's still about a half-hour before the sun rises. He's got enough time to go pick up Cas, and get to Washington High on time. And maybe the day will pass quickly, and maybe after school he can drop off Jo at home, and drive with Cas wherever, maybe catch a movie, get something to eat, make out and finally, finally do the deed on the Impala's backseat. _

_And then his cell phone rings. _

"_Good morning, Dean," Cas greets, and Dean pauses before he opens the driver's door. _

"_Hey, Babe," he answers, smiling. _

"_Dean, Gabriel wishes to take me to school today."_

"_Oh."_

"_He would also like to spend some time with me, afterwards."_

_Silence._

"_He says it's to make up for time lost."_

_Silence._

"_I'm sorry, Dean."_

_Silence._

"_Dean?"_

* * *

_._

_._

Asshole.

* * *

**.**

**TBC**

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**.**

**PLEASE REVIEW WHILE I GO AND START THE NEXT CHAPTER! It's gonna be a big'un, like these last two. :)**


	22. Forever and Ever

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE.**

**A/N: THIS IS IT YOU GUYS! THE LAST CHAPTER! I know what you guys are thinking, "WHAT?! But you can't!" Well, yes I can! I set out to write an angst free multichaptered story about how Dean and Cas come together (*nudge*nudge*wink*wink*) and I succeeded. :) I'm really happy at my achievement, since I've never completed a multi-chaptered story in my life! xD. My baby here is over 73,000 words, author's notes included. Can you believe that? **

**I love destiel with all my heart, and while I was writing this last chapter, I had a couple destiel-feels attacks xD. I had no idea how to end this thing, but then I did and I'm really happy with it. So please, enjoy the ending of my epic non-angsty fic: No Time For Angst.**

**PS: I'll be posting this story to AO3 for anyone who wants to download a pdf version of this story for easy reading. Link will be in my profile as soon as I set it up!**

**(There are also some additional comments at the end, so please don't skip those!)**

**.**

**NO TIME FOR ANGST**

**BY: ANGELWINGZ21**

**CHAPTER XXII: THE ONE WHERE THE AUTHOR BELIEVES DESTIEL WILL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER FOREVER AND EVER**

.

* * *

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end. I really have no idea what to put in this summary xD! It's all in Cas's POV, and this chapter alone is almost 12.5K words (not including author's notes)! That's 34 Microsoft Word pages! Really proud of myself, right there. Enjoy!**

* * *

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**.**

Castiel feels a bit bad for Dean.

He's aware of the fact that the universe is attempting to make his boyfriend's life impossible.

From a ridiculous Halloween experience, to crashing his car twice. From bank robberies, to Charlie horses. From government-classified secrets, to having to deal with his own drama with Meg.

Castiel feels really bad for Dean.

He tries his best to be his ray of sunshine, so to speak. It doesn't work very well, though, because whenever he manages to find some alone time for them to spend together, things happen. Mr. Singer and Ms. Ellen refuse to stop hovering by their sides. His Uncle Balthazar declares an unexpected 'No-Sex-On-The-Front-Yard' policy.

Castiel finds it a little impressive that Dean suffers through this all with only a grimace and a slump to his shoulders.

His own life hasn't been as hectic as his boyfriend's. It's had its ups and downs but nothing so wild. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, he's a hormone-driven teenager, too. So this thing the universe is trying to do? This cock-blocking mission? It's frustrating him to no end for selfish reasons as well.

He's never experienced sexual frustration before. Before Dean, his only romantic encounter had been a kindergarten crush on this little blonde girl he doesn't even remember the name of. So really, he didn't know that going from a life where he never knew the joys and pleasures of sex, to just going at it, full blown, whenever he and Dean look at each other for more than two and a half minutes, would have consequences. Whenever he felt the need, he called Dean, whenever Dean felt the need, Dean called him. Just like that, easy as pie.

But now it's been nearly three weeks, and he's got an itch the size of Texas. If there was one thing his parents taught him, though, it was perseverance. So with that, every morning before getting ready for the day, and every night before going to bed, he meditates to this frame of thought: 'This is only temporary. Sex is just around the corner. This is only temporary. Sex is just around the corner.'

It's helped. A little.

And then the day came when Dean gets brain damaged from insufficient sleep. It sounds bad, but this is the perfect opportunity. Because when Dean refuses to let his body rest, for some reason it reacts the opposite of drained. He gets wired, way too hyperactive for his own good. So what other way to tire him out but by strenuous physical and mental activities?

So he forces Dean to sing, to reach out into the recesses of his mind and spout out historical facts. He sets him loose on the punching bag and eagerly watches the way those perfect muscles strain, how every single drop of sweat rolls down that golden skin. An outsider would think Cas is being a good boyfriend.

Right.

He is actually just anticipating that one specific moment when Dean gets bored of beating up the punching bag. That one moment where exhaustion is minutes away but still not quite. Oh, that moment is glorious. His body is completely confused on what exactly it should do. And that usually means really good sex.

Eye-rolling, mind-melting sex. Because in the confusion between exhaustion and hyperactivity, Dean's mind recognizes the amazing pleasure being derived from sex and wishes to get off, but his body doesn't know when to give in. So that just leaves his boyfriend desperate for release; pounding, moving, grinding, writhing, twisting harder for a release that takes much too long to arrive.

Dean pretty much conks right after finally achieving orgasm, so it's not like Castiel is taking advantage. Dean gets to sleep and Cas gets satisfaction. Fair trade.

But that night, right after Dean punches the bag a little too hard, and the thing swings away from the busted hook it was chained on, all his plans get derailed.

Gabriel Novak steps into the gym/shed like it is the most normal thing for an absentee celebrity family member to do.

Castiel almost cries. He doesn't, though. Instead, his face goes entirely blank, except for the scrunched up brow. The scrunched up brow gives away his immeasurable sexually frustrated agony.

And Dean, wonderful, sleep-addled Dean, just smiles wide and blabs and blabs at his elder uncle. Apparently they met yesterday, or something. How nice. Except that Gabriel decides to be an asshole and not forgive whatever it is that Dean seems to be apologizing for. His blue eyes narrow.

Strike one.

He leaves with his family when he's sure that Sam will watch over his boyfriend, and prevent his beloved from drowning in the shower, or such other similar accidents.

Dinner at the Novak household that evening is comprised of Hawaiian pizza, bacon pizza, veggie pizza, three pepperoni-filled calzones, barbeque chicken wings, fettuccini alfredo, cannoli, amaretto cheesecake, Nutella biscotti with cups of hot chocolate, and a side Spanish Inquisition.

Or at least, what Gabriel thinks is the Spanish Inquisition.

Honestly, the man does not know him at all.

"So…" begins Gabriel after biting into his bacon pizza, and downing it with beer.

"Yes?" Castiel asks around a slice of veggie pizza.

"Seventeen, huh?"

"Eighteen, soon."

"Hm. And gay, too."

"I prefer not to place a label upon myself so early in my development," he declares after chugging down his entire glass of wine. Mother always said that wine was Jesus Christ's blood. 'Let's fill ourselves to the brim in His blood,' she used to say. Excuses, excuses.

"Right."

He closes himself off after that. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, except for Dean, who can successfully pry him open. In more ways than one. He feels he should wink and nudge at someone.

Instead, he lets the silence that follows Gabriel's attempts at digging for information become stilted, and absolutely awkward, as he blankly and mechanically brings food to his mouth and chews it carefully.

From the corner of his eye he can see Uncle Balthazar scowl at Uncle Gabriel.

The next day comes much too early for his liking, but alas, sacrifices must be made in the name of education. At least he doesn't have to walk his way to the temporary school. He's got Dean, lovely Dean, willing to drive all the way to his far-removed home to pick him up, cross the entire town, and deliver him safely to their institution.

Dean deserves blow jobs, he decides as he's washing his teeth. Maybe they can skip homeroom and spend it in the wheelchair accessible bathroom stall. Trade favors. That'll slake his lust some until after school. Because God knows that today, they're getting laid. It's Friday; the perfect excuse to go out on a date, and not be bothered by nosy family members.

And then Gabriel appears.

"Knock knock!" the man singsongs as he breezes his way into his room, and throws himself into the middle of Castiel's unmade bed.

"Good morning, Uncle," comes Cas's muffled reply from the depths of his closet, where he's attempting to find a turtleneck sweater.

"God, kid. Balthy said you needed to wake up before the ass-crack of dawn in order to get to school, but I really didn't think you would do it."

"School is very important."

"Well, not today!" Gabriel suddenly springs back up from the bed, and somehow appears besides him, clutching his pale shoulders in a vice grip. "Today, we get to spend some much needed quality time together. After all, we haven't seen each other in so long. It's practically heartbreaking!"

Castiel levels his Flat Look at his uncle.

His face stays in the same Flat position even after he finishes dressing, even after calling Dean and telling him the change of plans (this is Strike Two, by the way), even after Vivi serves him his favorite breakfast meal, even after Balthazar hugs him and kisses him twice on the cheeks and tells him to keep his phone as safe as possible and to call as soon as things start getting strange, even after he and Gabriel pile up into the borrowed Rolls Royce and begin the drive out of the property, even after the car passes the 'You are now leaving Sioux Falls!' sign.

"Where are we going," Castiel finally chooses to ask in a monotone voice after the sun is high enough to brighten the Earth, but still low enough that the car's visor fails to provide cover from the fiery needles stabbing themselves indiscriminately into his eyes.

"I woke up this morning, and I felt like tequila, dear Cassie," Gabriel answers cheerfully. He digs a hand into his jacket pocket, pulls out a blue article and throws it in the teenager's lap. It's a small booklet, and when he looks at the front cover, Cas can see the word 'PASSPORT' in golden, blocky letters.

The seventeen-year-old slumps in his seat. "We're not returning to the house before the day's over, are we?"

"Nope!"

Three days. Three miserable, agonizing days of pure southern heat, endless tequila shots, cock fights, and cringe-worthy, unfortunate rodeo experiences. And women.

Gabriel had lunged one big-breasted stripper after the other towards Castiel's unsuspecting face. He's been boob-slapped enough times to make him worry about having gotten a concussion.

Gabriel thought it was funny.

Thankfully, it's all over now. Everything that happened south of the border, stayed south of the border, or so had his uncle make him promise after the Mazorca Situation. Castiel shudders.

And now here they are, a perfectly frigid Tuesday on a South Dakotan midday, in Harvelle's Road House parking lot. The teenager sighs and allows the corners of his lips to curl a few centimeter's upwards.

It causes Gabriel to have a sudden panic attack, so Cas takes the opportunity to slip into Ellen's restaurant.

"Mom! Mom!" Jo screeches from her place next to her mother behind the bar. Ellen looks up from the glass she's cleaning.

"Oh! Blessed be my eyes that set their sights upon your sweet face!" the older woman shouts out from behind the bar, but then she's vaulting over it all like it's nothing, and she pulls him into her bosom, and proceeds to squeeze the sweet life out of him.

Huh. More boobs.

"It's good to see you as well, Ms. Ellen," he grunts into the front of her plaid shirt.

"Dean's been absolutely impossible to deal with, you know?" she whispers in his ear.

"I miss him," he confides softly, and then awkwardly raises his arms to loop them around the woman.

But then the entrance doors burst open, and Gabriel is there again. "Cassie! Where'd you go?"

Castiel hugs Ellen just a bit tighter.

Ellen and Joanna Beth Harvelle are God-sent angels from Heaven, the teenager decides. Because the women easily distract Gabriel Novak with witty chatter and sugary alcohol, and then Ellen has one of the waiters drive him over to the salvage yard to see Dean. Apparently, the school district decided those affected by drugs in Meg's unfortunate Halloween party did not deserve to be unfairly punished. In a move to gain parents' and students' favor once again, it was decided that school would be let out for the week. And Thanksgiving is on Thursday.

The car ride over is incredibly bumpy, jostling him all over the place and causing flares of pain to spread out from the tenders spots in his flesh induced by the Mexico Experience. He doesn't care though, because he's on his way to see his boyfriend. He's going to tackle him, and kiss him, and hug him, and hump him to death.

What happens is that he falls asleep before reaching Singer's.

When he wakes up, he finds himself barefoot on a very familiar twin-sized bed, in a very familiar room. It's dark out, but he can hear chatter from downstairs, so maybe it's not so late.

Dean's room. Castiel inhales deeply, takes in his boyfriend's scent from the bed sheets and the pillow his head is resting on. And then the door to the room swings open.

His blue eyes quickly land on the figure that's just entered. Tall and bulky, yet graceful as he crosses over to the night stand against the wall and between the two beds. There's a _click_, and then light from night stand lamp illuminates the room in shades of yellow.

Dean's green eyes are as green as an evergreen forest. And he knows he's used the word 'green' way too many times in his last thought, but it doesn't matter because they're so _green _and coming closer towards him.

Next thing he knows he's got a lapful of Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, _Dean. _And oh! Those soft lips are pressing against his own, and then there are teeth, and tongue, and sucking, and shifting hips. A couple somethings stir and harden down there, and isn't that just wonderful?

Castiel breaks away from the very heated kiss to gasp for breath, and Dean takes the opportunity to maul at his neck. The pale teenager blurts out something between a hiss and a moan, hands tightening their grasp on his boyfriend's sides.

"Your family," he breathes out, trying to focus when there are teeth attaching themselves to the flesh right under his ear.

"Downstairs," Dean answers roughly, right before soothing the bite with his tongue, and grinding down harder against his groin. "They wanted to let you sleep."

Castiel chokes on a groan before pulling Dean's head back, so that he could lavish that wondrous dip where the collarbones meet. "Gabriel?" he asks against the moistened skin. Dean's breathing hitches.

"Balthazar's wrangled him."

"Thank God," the older teenager declares before pushing Dean backwards, until the blonde head rests a little over the edge at the foot of the bed. "I've been miserable, Dean," he confesses wretchedly as he untangles their legs.

"Me too," Dean replies, desperation tingeing his tone. His broad hands encircle themselves around his pale wrists, and tugs on them until his fingers thread behind the fair head, and their chests are flush against each other, only thin layers of cotton separating them.

Their hips roll insistently against each other, and their kissing, while going a bit slower, becomes much deeper.

"It's been so long," Cas whispers against full lips.

"Yeah."

Removing their clothes would take too much time, and after an eternity of teasing each other, Castiel just travels down Dean's body in one smooth motion. His fingers grab onto the elastic of his boyfriend's pajama pants (and the only reason he registers pajamas is because he's touching them), and pull it down; Dean doesn't wear underwear to bed. There's no need to make a production out of what's about to happen, so Cas just takes him. Licks and sucks and swallows, as the blonde chokes back moans and groans. There are fingers digging into the black mess of his hair, and massaging his scalp roughly. Dean whispers his name like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

The stretched feeling in his lips, the straining of his tongue, the ache in his jaw and the throbbing in the back of his throat should not be pleasurable sensations. But his eyes open and peek at Dean's wanton expression, his ears pick up every obscene sound, his memories conjure up the last time he was on the receiving end of such an act, and his mind keeps telling him that he's the one undoing this perfect specimen with nothing but his mouth. Castiel can't help the moans that tumble out of his own mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

It doesn't take too long, to get Dean to the edge and then over it. His boyfriend bites down on an exclamation as his body gives into a shudder. As he tries to regain control of himself, he draws out fast, delirious breaths, hissing out whenever Cas's tongue passes over the sensitized flesh in a quest to leave him as clean as possible.

There is a pause, only a few heartbeats long, where Dean takes one long, deep, bracing breath, and then he's tugging Castiel's mouth off a hip bone. Those hands slide down to his thinner shoulders, and push him up and back, until his head hits the pillow it had been resting on before.

"Oh," Castiel breathes out, before Dean crawls over him to seal their mouths together. The blonde's tongue delves in a deep, insistent way that has the brunette arching off the bed, and curling a leg around a muscled thigh.

But their kiss ends abruptly as Dean drags himself down Castiel's body, and starts to fumble with his jeans button in the soft lighting. Castiel helps as Dean zips down the fly, and together they tug the heavy pants off. The blonde grabs onto his hardened flesh through the slit of his underwear, and the brunette strangles a moan as he hits the pillow with the back of his head.

He feels cool air and then he's being enveloped by the slick, wet heat of Dean's mouth. He lasts even less than Dean, only managing a handful of aborted thrusts, and a rhythmic loosening and tightening of his grip on that blonde head. The orgasm that hits him feels like a punch to the chest, and he flounders an eternity—it was only two seconds, Dean will assure him much later—to gain his breath back. It stutters back to him in a long, broken whine, because his boyfriend is still suckling him. The intensity is much lighter, compared to before, but it still causes his body to quake and his vision to continue to flash in white.

Dean moves on to licking him, slow flat swipes over loosening testicles and the delicate skin behind them. After that, he just nuzzles and presses quick kisses on his thighs, then up the line of his pelvis, over a hip bone, the edge of his belly button, and then up, up on his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and then those swollen lips land twice against his own puffy ones.

Castiel laughs. It's a soft, breathy thing against Dean's lingering lips as he opens his blue eyes again. He manhandles his boyfriend to lie on his side, and mirrors the position until they resemble a pair of parentheses. Dean is smiling at him, satisfied and happy; his eyes glinting even in the low lighting. He knows he's making the same expression.

"Tomorrow," he begins, as he gently tucks Dean back into the pajamas before he does the same thing to himself, "is for us. No unfortunate events, no prohibiting family members, nothing that'll interrupt our time together."

Dean smiles. It's a slow movement that usually only means trouble-making.

"We can break into our school; try to do the nasty on every room we've got class in. I bet the English classroom's got great acoustics."

This startles a laugh out of Castiel, and the pale young man inches closer towards Dean. Their ankles hook together, hands linking in the little space between them, the tip of his sharp nose rubbing along the underside of the cleft chin.

"We're not going to do that, Dean," Castiel sighs, eyes drooping as exhaustion settles on him again. "Well, maybe just a few classrooms," he amends.

Dean huffs out a laugh of his own.

* * *

.

.

Morning feels like it's arrived an entire lifetime after the lovely happenings of the night before. It is arguably the best rest Castiel has ever had. His mind is slow to wake, eyes fluttering open before he can remember where he is.

There's a warm body pressing close, and he's just starting to realize that his left leg and arm are squished under a heavy weight and that he can't really feel them. He makes an effort to move them though, and is rewarded by the sensation of pins and needles. Castiel gasps softly, and winces, the shock of unexpected pain shaking off the last dregs of drowsiness.

When his eyes finally focus, he realizes that all this time he's been gazing at a spectacular hickey left behind on a tanned neck, right at the beginning of a clavicle. _'Dean,' _his mind supplies.

He's laying next to—and partially underneath—Dean. A current of thrill races down his spine, making it curve inwards, trying to get closer to his boyfriend, dead limbs be damned. He has never spent an entire night with his boyfriend; he has never woken up the morning after with Dean. It just wasn't possible.

They are still underage, no matter the liberties that their guardians have granted them, and are limited by their situations. Recent Random Mexican Trip from Hell excluded, Cas is expected to be in bed (alone) before midnight on weekdays, and on weekends before one-thirty in the morning. Dean shares his room with his female cousin, and a younger brother on the room besides his. There's usually no privacy.

But it seems that last night had been a wonderful exception. He assumes Ms. Ellen took pity on him after he initiated a hug with her; something he has never done before. He can easily see in his mind's eye how she could have called his Uncle Balthazar and snarled at him until the man had gone to the Road House and put a leash around Uncle Gabriel's neck. It's perfectly possible that the woman had stood tall and proud, with Jo glaring from behind, in the face of the two men and declared Castiel under her temporary protection.

And when that waiter had driven him to the salvage yard, and he had passed out in the passenger's seat? Castiel can see how Dean could've sprinted from the house's porch, down the pair of steps and over to the car, only to freeze at the sight of him; bruises under his eyes from restless nights, body slack with sleep, eyes softly shut. The blonde teenager would have opened the car door and gently unbuckled him, arms softly slithering under him to extract him from the vehicle with the utmost care. Dean would've clutched him as close as possible—and he knows the improbability of this; he might be lean but he's not some frail thing, so just let him fantasize—as he maneuvered his way back inside the house, and up the stairs and into his own room. His rough yet deft fingers must have undone the laces of his sneakers and pulled them off, leaving the rest of his clothes intact to keep him warm; the second floor doesn't get as much heat as the ground floor.

Bobby was sure to have been the first to arrive at the house, Sam in tow after picking the boy up from the middle school. Dean must have set his jaw like he always does when he wants to be stubborn and declared that Castiel would be under his care. Therefore, they were to be quiet, and respectful of the boundaries of his room. He most certainly gave the speech to Ms. Ellen and Jo when they arrived as well. The entire family probably acquiesced immediately, yielding to Dean's protective mother hen tendencies, and saying nothing, even when half of the family was the one to come up with the idea of the seventeen-year-old staying in their home, while the other half truly did not mind.

Dean sighs, the gust of breath ruffling the dark hairs at the top of his head and bringing him back to the moment. The blonde shifts, and pulls closer to Castiel, arms wrapping around his torso, until he resembles nothing more than a cuddle plush. He's sure that the sight of them would be hilarious to any on lookers. Frankly, the position was a bit uncomfortable.

Just as he's finishing those musings, the most unexpected sound fills up the room. It's like a mixture of a bear roaring and a chainsaw turning on. It causes Dean and him to startle at the same time; Dean more violently so, since he had still been fighting the last dregs of sleep.

He's immediately let go, in favor of Dean righting himself up. Blood rushes towards his once-trapped limbs, and Castiel is relieved, even if it hurts. That horrible sound is still echoing loudly against the walls, so he follows his boyfriend's movements and sits up as well. Dean is blinking hazily, trying to shake off the tiredness and muttering obscenities with a sleep-heavy tongue. He keeps mentioning Jo and insulting her mother's integrity, so Castiel shift and rests most of his weight against Dean's side to look over to the other bed occupying the room.

Sure enough, there's Jo on her own twin bed, tangled around two separate sheets, limbs spread out all over the place, her mouth slack and open wide. And dear God in Heaven, that awful sound is most assuredly being caused by the petite girl. He suddenly remembers, months ago, Dean complaining about Jo snoring up a storm after eating some specific meal for dinner. He can't remember which meal it was, and he could ask his boyfriend about it, but that isn't the most pressing question at the moment.

"How did we sleep through that?" Castiel mumbles into Dena's shoulder, both their backs resting against the wall.

Dean stills for a moment, as if suddenly realizing that there's someone in bed with him, then relaxes again, letting some of his weight slump against Castiel.

"Probably too tired," he answers in a sleep-roughened voice as he starts shifting off the bed.

Dean crosses over to Jo's in one long stride. He stares down at his snoring cousin for half a second before grabbing on to her shoulder and shifting her small body on its side until she's facing her own wall. The snores thankfully subside immediately.

The early morning spills in a steely grey hue through the window's curtains, bathing Dean in its opaque light as he keeps looking down at his cousin. He's beautiful, Castiel decides. Perfect with his sleep-flattened hair, marked face and wrinkled clothes.

"Hi," he's saying without really meaning to do so.

Dean turns around, an easy smile worming itself over his lips, eyes shining bright.

"Hi," the blonde returns, and starts moving back towards his bed. "Good morning," he continues, as he crawls onto the mattress.

Castiel smiles in return, and rushes out his own 'Good morning,' right before sleep-puffed lips find his own. The kiss is soft, lazy and calm in a way that yesterday's kisses just couldn't afford to be.

When they eventually break away, Dean huffs a laugh. "Dirty-mouthed morning kisses; a fantasy come true," he jokes into Castiel's neck.

"I like it. Makes it all more real."

Dean laughs again. "I think Jo's monster-snoring made it all real enough."

They don't spend much time on the small bed after that, preferring to make use of the bathroom and get ready for their day. As Dean hands him some of the clean clothes he leaves behind to wear after their training sessions, Castiel can feel himself unable to stop smiling. One look at Dean and it's obvious he's smiling, too. It had been something so simple, spending a night and waking up together, but it had also been absolutely perfect in so many indescribable ways that left him feeling lighthearted and ready to take on anything that might come their way.

He follows Dean, out the door and down the hall, towards the bathroom.

"Here," the blonde begins, after shutting the bathroom door close and rooting through the cabinet under the sink, "Sammy always gets back ups, the freak." It's a brand new, purple-colored tooth brush, still in its plastic.

They brush their teeth together, shoulders bumping, eyes catching in the mirror, and it's all so…so…_gay_…but Castiel doesn't care. They can afford to be this way with each other behind closed doors, when it's just them and no one else.

It's also interesting, Castiel notes, how his thought process before last night was so vastly different to his thought process now. He hadn't even realized there had been a difference, not until he had calmed down. He had let his frustration bleed through his rationality. And even if he did a good job of hiding it all in front of his family, he's sure a few cracks showed here and there.

Which is probably why just last week Meg asked him if he was menstruating. And maybe that's why he shrieked like a banshee and cursed like a sailor at his Uncle Gabriel right after the events of the Mazorca Situation, instead of silently glaring, as he's usually prone to do in the face of embarrassingly ridiculous jackassery. Alright so maybe his twice-a-day mantra/prayer hadn't helped at all.

But it's alright; because now he's with Dean again, and he's sure last night was just a sneak peek of how today is going to be like. No reason to be frustrated and stressed anymore. He can feel it's going to be a good day.

Trust him, as a naked Dean pulls his equally naked body under the deliciously warm spray of water in the shower, he can certainly _feel _it's going to be a _very _good day.

Their morning ablutions—for obvious reasons—take just a bit longer than necessary, but it's still quiet when they come out. Jo apparently rolled again onto her back, since her snoring has reached epic ear drum-bursting proportions again. It all just means that she's still sleeping, and one peek through the open door of Sammy's room reveals the kid buried under a pile of pillows and a very thick quilt. The only skin visible is a bare foot that lost its sock and found its way from under the covers.

They pad softly down the stairs, Castiel mimicking Dean's movements when he jumps over certain steps. Their care is all for naught, because when they reach the kitchen, Dean finds a piece of ripped out notebook paper stuck to the freezer door of the '50's styled (by the rusty and beat up look of it, it's more than likely an original) refrigerator by a magnet. It has Ms. Ellen's handwriting on it.

"_Kids," _Dean begins to read aloud, _"Bobby and I have gone to get the turkeys for Thanksgiving Day. We won't be back until late evening. So y'all just survive on the leftovers in the fridge 'til then. _

_Jo: don't forget today's hockey practice at two. Sam: please stop reading that Russian book and pick up something Chinese; your Mandarin is lagging behind. Dean: don't run away with Cass for the day—_shit!" The blonde's melodious reading gets suddenly cut off. "How did she know?" he whines.

"I believe it's very hard to try and get something past Ms. Ellen," Castiel voices. It's true. Ellen-Harvelle-Singer has ever-seeing eyes. Not unlike the Eye of Mordor, only less evil and much more motherly.

Dean snorts. "You don't know the half of it." He clears his throat and turns back to the note. _"…don't run away with Cas for the day before taking him home first. It's only proper. And Cas: you can stay with us tonight again, if you want. I feel uncomfortable know you'd be sharing roof with Gabriel Novak. Man's a menace. Ellen. Ps: Bobby says not to do anything idiotic." _Dean finishes reading, but still stares at the piece of paper.

Castiel doesn't know how to react to the part that's addressed to him, although he's already halfway to saying yes to staying over, just to share another night's rest in the same bed with Dean again. Except, that there's also an extra bed in Sam's room. Ms. Ellen might put him there. Although he doesn't think she'd be terribly upset if he were to sneak into Dean's room. It's not like they'll do anything if Jo's there. All of this he keeps quiet, instead deciding to voice another part of the note.

"Did she say 'turkeys,' as in plural? And is it really so hard to find them in Sioux Falls that it'll take all day?" He knows he's making his Confused Face, the one Dean keeps calling adorable, but he can't help it.

Dean gives out one chuckle, before landing a smacking kiss on his unsuspecting cheek, and turning to put the note back on the fridge so that Sam and Jo can read it when they get down. "Bobby and Ellen hunt the turkeys."

"You mean like, real, still-feathered, wild turkeys?" Castiel has a sudden, ridiculous moment where he envisions the two adults looking like a pair of Links, and chasing after turkeys that behave like the chickens from the old Super Nintendo 'A Link to the Past.' Pixelated and everything.

* * *

.

.

This is what's really happening:

"_Get it, get it, get that giant chicken Bobby!" Ellen Harvelle shrieks, rifle held close to her chest, as she speeds across a clearing, hot on the heels of her husband._

"_I got the damn thing, woman! It's your screechin' tha's scarin' the poor thing!" Bobby hollers over his shoulder, the weak sunlight glinting over a pair of sunglasses. _

_The turkey, less than a hundred yards away, gobbles in hysteric fear. _

(Turns out, Cas isn't that far off from the truth. Go figure.)

* * *

.

.

"Yup," answers Dean, his head deep within the fridge.

"Why more than one?"

The blonde pulls out of the fridge with a carton of eggs in one hand, a package of ham, another one of cheese, and a bowl of butter on the other hand, and a bag of sliced bread hanging from between his teeth.

"Me-cuff," he begins, before shuffling over to the kitchen counter and spitting out the bread onto it. "Thanksgiving dinner is always huge."

"How many guests are you expecting?"

"Well, let's see. There's you and Balthazar, and his girlfriends, and your…Gabriel—"

"We're invited?" Castiel blurts out, a little surprised, really. Dean looks up from the pan he's placing on the stove.

"Duh. Like you guys would've celebrated if left to your own devices. Anyways, there's also Sheriff Mills, and her husband and son, Mrs. Moseley—"

"The school principal?"

"Yeah. And there's also Sammy's friend, Garth, and his mom with her awesome pies. And Jo also has her friend Becky over, along with her dad—who's just a little bit less weird than her, I swear—and can't forget Ash. He's coming alone this year; it's best to not talk about it. Coach Turner will also be coming, and I ran into Andy the Delivery Guy and he told me he was alone for Thanksgiving and Sammy was there and he took pity on the guy and invited him over, too." All of this Dean rambles as he goes around to making scrambled eggs and toast. "Oh! And Meg."

That makes Cas straighten out from the depths of the refrigerator where he had been searching for juice. "What about Meg?"

"Well, apparently at some point in the weekend she and Aunt Ellen talked. Looks like they're making peace by sharing a dinner. So she'll be there." Castiel gives an imperceptible sigh of relief. Meg can be very snarky and incredibly hard to handle, but she really isn't a bad person, and he believes her when she says she had nothing to do with the spiked punch. If Ms. Ellen's willing to let her inside her house, then that means the older woman must believe her as well, if only a little. "I think that's everyone."

"Your dad?"

Dean shrugs, his back to the pale teenager. "Not unless a miracle happens."

Castiel hums in the silence. "That's sixteen guests. Plus the five of you, it'll be twenty-one mouths to feed."

"M-hm. That's why Bobby and Ellen are providing the turkeys, and everyone else is bringin' in a plate of something."

Breakfast is eaten quickly right over the kitchen sink, in order to get on with their day. Dean lets Cas borrow a heavy coat from the mystical coat closet—and it really is mystical; he has found everything from Kevlar suits to priest costumes in there—right by the house's entrance, and then step out.

Castiel looks up, takes in the morose sky, and then looks back down at his surroundings. Singer Salvage is an untamed, rusty yard, with freezing auto parts and not a single snowflake in sight. As a matter of fact, thinking back, not one snowfall has occurred this entire month. And isn't it just sad that he was so preoccupied with his own self-satisfaction that he failed to notice something as obvious and perceptible as the weather?

The brunette just sighs. He hopes it snows soon; he's always been partial to winter weather.

The Impala warms quickly, and pretty soon they're off the property and driving towards the farmhouse. Dean starts humming, just three seconds after crossing the gates, and pretty soon after that he begins tapping away at the steering wheel. Cas smiles, having missed his boyfriend's fidgety mannerisms. He knows that in less than five minutes, the blonde will rummage through the box of tapes under his seat and feed a…let's see, he's humming 'Paint it Black' so, yes, he'll most likely feed a Rolling Stones tape into the deck. Not three minutes later, he's gratified to find his prediction true, and chuckles softly under the music starting to play.

Dean grins, singing along to the song and Cas can't help but grin back just as wide. It doesn't take much convincing to get him to sing along as well.

His welcoming back at the Novak household is…interesting. Dean's Baby is by no means a creature of stealth and by the time they slow down to park in front of the house, Xica and Vivi are already out on the porch. They pretty much tackle him to the ground, filling his ears with coos and worries, and clutching him tight enough to not let him breathe.

But then the front door opens, and out flies his Uncle Gabriel. Uncle Balthazar appears just half a second later, clutching onto the front door's frame for support as he catches his breath. "Damn slippery bastard!" he curses between heaves. But Castiel isn't really paying attention, because the man in question has ripped him away from the two women and is now the one clutching him tight to his bosom. At least he has no boobs with which to smother him. Thank God for small favors.

Gabriel is spouting off phrases along the same lines as Balthazar's girlfriends, and Castiel takes the time to be thankful for this, too. Despite his admittedly ridiculous insanity, the man still cares for him enough to worry when he spent the night away from home. That is, until the older man yanks him off, then forces his head violently backwards, exposing the line of his bare, pale neck.

"Aha!" Gabriel exclaims in hysterical triumph, as the pad of one of his thumbs presses a little too harshly over what he knows must be a rather violent-looking hickey. The pressure stings and aches, and Castiel gives out a yelp in surprise. "Is this why you let him stay over at that scrap yard, Balthazar? So that our Cassie could get all marked up like some white trash chicky by the likes of Mr. Honky-tonk Dean-o Winchester? That it?"

Strike three.

He is told that what happened afterwards was akin to the destruction God laid upon the sin-loving cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. That is to say, that fire and brimstone rained from the sky, and unleashed horror and waste on those who disappointed the Lord. Or rather, the fire and brimstone had apparently been some very harsh words that had spouted unexpectedly from his mouth. And it was just one person who disappointed the Lord; Gabriel. And there really was no Lord directly involved during any moment of Castiel's rant. Just him. So really, Gabriel disappointed him, not Him.

Hm, so maybe the angry outburst following the events of the Mazorca Situation had nothing to do with Frustration of the Sexual Variety, and more to do with Frustration of the Gabriel Variety. That's good to know.

Anyways, after his hyperactive uncle accosts him in the middle of the farmhouse's front yard, he's sure he loses a moment of time, because the next thing that happens, Dean is running his hands over his head and back, hugging him—the comfortable kind of—tight and whispering nonsense into his ear. They're also in the middle of his bedroom, the door shut tight.

Castiel's long fingers are gripping Dean's arms so hard, his knuckles are white.

"Dean?" he mumbles into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Right here! Right here!" The blonde pulls away to smile a little too wide at the pale teenager. "How you feeling, buddy?"

Cas frowns. "Good?"

"Really?"

"…Yes?"

"Great! Let's get out of here, m'kay? M'kay!"

The trek down the farmhouse's stairs is deathly silent, and they don't encounter anyone on their way out. That is, until they're putting their coats back on.

"Cassie?" His name is voiced from behind them, and when the seventeen-year-old turns, he finds his Uncle Balthazar there, leaning against a wall, face contrite.

"Uncle Balthazar," he acknowledges.

"You alright?"

"Yes," he answers truthfully, but frowns again at having the same general question directed at him in the space of minutes.

Balthazar sighs in what seems like relief, then moves closer to envelop him in a much more moderate hug. "We love you, darling. All of us do, you know."

"I love you, too, Uncle Balthazar."

At this the older man gasps, holding Castiel by his shoulders, gaze jumping from his own to his boyfriend's. "You mean that, darling?" His British accent is now breathless, like what he told him has thrown him for a loop.

"I always have," the brunette answers in a tone that signifies it should have been extremely obvious.

He and Dean leave the farmhouse with Balthazar sobbing in happiness at the front door.

"My family is weird," he comments, watching the property grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

Dean gives a loud, awkward laugh, before raising the volume of the song playing on the radio.

* * *

.

.

"I thought you were just joking about this," Castiel comments, eyebrows raised, as both he and Dean stare at the building in front of them. It's a school building. A high school building. Their high school building, to be exact.

"Come on, Cas. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in a cantina, a few deserts away," he answers dryly.

There's a prolonged silence where the seventeen-year-old knows that his boyfriend is staring at him with a Confused Look of his own.

"What?"

Unbidden, flashes of porn-like images rush into his mind. Now, he knows it's impossible to find the costumes his brain is coming up with…but there certainly are a lot of rulers in there. And nice, broad teacher's desks…

"Oh God, my brain has flushed my morals down the toilet."

"So…that a yes?"

Castiel refuses to look at Dean, lest the blonde impacts him with those huge, shiny, mischievous green eyes.

* * *

.

.

Just a couple hours short of sundown, both teenagers saunter into Bobby Singer's home looking as pleased as punch.

Sam wanders in from the TV room, hair ruffled and wearing what looks like day-old clothes. Someone's been taking a lazy day.

"Where have you two been all day?" he questions, still-chubby arms crossed over his chest.

Castiel looks at him; head tilted to the side as Dean hums and helps him remove the borrowed coat. His clothes may be as wrinkled as Sam's, but he holds himself with much more grace.

"Dean and I felt the uh…" at this, Cas looks sideways at his boyfriend, who does nothing more than offer him a Cheshire cat grin, "_need_ for an educational reevaluation."

Dean guffaws into the coat closet.

Sam scrunches up his face so much his eyes are almost disappear.

"What does that mean?"

"It means they were having sex!" Jo hollers as loudly as possible from the TV room. Sam spasms, a look of horror crossing his face. "Kinky sex, it sounds like!"

The middle schooler shrieks at those last words, clapping his hands over his ears and running up the stairs. Jo's laughter is loud and obnoxious.

Castiel can feel his face heating up fast and bright like a furnace. Dean is still guffawing, and has somehow made it out of the closet; only two hang from the brunette's shoulders as the blonde cackles into his ear.

The seventeen-year-old heaves a sigh, and makes his way over to Jo, dragging his boyfriend along since the young man still can't get a hold of himself.

"That was unnecessary," he chastises as he lets his body fall on the old leather couch, making Jo bounce as Dean crawls onto the back to rest like a lazy cat over the thing.

"Sammy needs to learn about sex, Cas," Jo rebukes around a mouthful of popcorn. A large bowl full of the snack is resting on her lap, so both he and Dean stick their hands into it to grab some.

"I believe he knows enough for his age," he counters.

"Not enough," decides Dean. "I was thinking…" he continues in a sigh, "…RedTube videos." With that, the blonde lets himself roll off the back of the couch, forcing Jo to scramble forwards in order to not get trampled. As it is, popcorn goes flying everywhere, and Castiel gets kicked in the face and shoulders.

It's around the time that Jo gives a magnificent war screech, and Cas scrambles over to the corner where he can be protected by the sturdy bookcase, and Dean curses his own stupidity, and they all brace themselves to an Epic Battle of The Cousins, that a bell rings.

Everyone just sort of stares at each other, absolutely confused at the sudden sound. The bell rings again. They all cautiously follow the origin of the sound, finding themselves on the hallway leading into the foyer. From above, Sammy tramples down the stairs, pausing halfway to lean over the banister and frown down at them.

"Was that a doorbell?" the boy asks.

The ringing sound begins again.

"Since when do we have a doorbell?" Jo wonders aloud.

Cas sighs. "Somebody, please just answer the door and see who it is!" he demands.

"Alright, alright!" That's Dean, sacrificing himself for them all, and opening the door to the one and only Gabriel Novak.

Castiel admits that in the back of his mind, the first words to pop up in his head are, 'Get back, Satan!' Thankfully, what comes out of his mouth is, "What are you doing here?"

The brunette does not raise a hand to try and hide any possibly visible hickeys from sight with the hem of his sweater sleeve. He does not.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I came to apologize." He clears his throat. "Dean," he begins in a bland monotone voice, like this is a speech that he was forced to memorize, "you are not some backwards hick. You are a wonderful, multilayered person. And Cassy, you are your own man. You can make your own choices without me having a say about it. Right!" and here he makes his voice all bouncy again, "I also brought apology candy!"

And with the flourish and a greasy smile of a used car salesman, he sweeps sideways to reveal…well…

"Uh—Wh—er—Tha—Um…" Castiel finds it hard to express the words that could describe the situation.

Sammy chokes, and Jo gives her startled laugh.

"Dude," Dean begins, absolutely awestruck, "that thing is anatomically correct!"

"What," the brunette manages to finally bite out, "is. That?"

"This is a nude sculpture of a woman made entirely out of bubble gum." Gabriel looks pleased with himself.

The sculpture in question is truly beautiful. A pretty, soft pink, all smoothed out to resemble the likeness of a four-foot tall woman. Her flowing hair hides half her face, and nothing else. The whole thing stands proudly atop a dolly cart.

Jo snorts, and then keeps laughing.

"H—Ho—How?"

"Well," the man begins, as he moves around to begin hauling his gift into the house, "let's just say I know an erotic candy maker or two."

"She has nipples!" Dean almost squeals in delight.

"This is not happening," Sam mumbles to himself.

"Is that bubble gum pubic hair?" Jo asks in the same excited tone as her cousin.

"Yup," The older man answers proudly.

"Not happening," continues Sammy.

"Why?" demands Castiel.

His uncle shrugs. "Just thought you'd appreciate it, is all."

"But _why_?" he demands again, at the same time that Jo and Dean exclaim that they _do_ appreciate it.

Just after that, Mr. Singer's truck engine can be heard roaring through the yard's entrance, and all Castiel can do is sigh in relief, because _thank God_, _the adults were here_. He goes to stand by the open front door and is gratified a few seconds later, when the truck rumbles to the front of the house, parking just behind the still-borrowed Rolls. Ms. Ellen is the first to get out, looking sweaty and dirt-covered, but still very intimidating. Especially, he's sure, because she now knows there's an (arguably) adult Novak in her property.

The woman steps onto the porch and raises an eyebrow at him, questioning the situation, and all Castiel can do is shake his head from side to side in slow motion, as if dazed. "Gabriel," he begins, slightly breathless for reasons that escape him. He moves aside, into the house, and lets his back rest against a stack of books. "He brought an apology present."

Ms. Ellen gasps.

"Aunt Ellen!" Dean exclaims while still perusing the sculpture with Jo. Sam is sitting on the stairs, head on his hands and an air of despair about him. "She has bubble gum nipples!"

Ms. Ellen stares at the surreal scene before her for five full seconds, before moving half a step back. "Bobby!"

* * *

.

.

Ms. Ellen and Mr. Singer settle for accepting his uncle's present for the sake of civility.

They've both come to realize that this is probably the most sane his Uncle Gabriel is going to act around other humans. They feel a bit lucky about that.

So with that, they saran wrap the whole sculpture thing and put it in one of the refrigerators down in the basement.

Castiel also decides to spend the night in his house. It's only proper that if Gabriel tries to play nice, then he should play nice, too. Besides, he's sure his Uncle Balthazar misses him. He just hopes the man has stopped crying by now.

The farewells the brunette shares with his boyfriend take a turn for the dramatic, when Dean decides to clutch him around the middle and not let go. Thankfully, Jo is quick to intervene, and pinches her cousin in some sensitive spot he really can't see from his angle and the blonde pretty much just leaps away.

"You'll see him tomorrow, doofus," Sam admonishes from besides their PDA display.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean mutters sullenly.

"Oh my God, you jerk!" Sam answers with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

.

.

Thanksgiving Day comes bright and early into the Novak household.

Genevieve and Xica have taken over the kitchens, each preparing a traditional plate from their country of origin. The ingredients being used in the dishes vary widely, so the counters look like a farmer's market display. Balthazar is in there with them, trying to steal bites of food here and there, and generally being an amusing nonsense.

Gabriel has started the day with an oversized margarita in one hand, and clutching his phone in the other, while apparently talking business into it.

Castiel wisely chooses to stay in his room, preferring to play with Grace and Batman than deal with his family. Apparently, the family didn't get the memo. Because at around 8 o'clock in the morning, Vivi breezes into the room clutching a pair of black pants, Xica saunters in with a long-sleeved light blue shirt, Balthazar appears next with a pair of shiny black leather shoes dangling from his fingers, and Gabriel trails behind them all with a navy blue tie wrapped around his head.

"Fashion intervention!" Vivi warbles. His cats scramble out the way, but all Cas can do is whimper before all four descend upon him.

* * *

.

.

It's Sam who opens the door for them.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" announces Balthazar and his girlfriends, with smiles on their faces and slightly burnt dishes in their hands.

"I brought rum!" Gabriel broadcasts, raising a bottle of Bacardi up to the side of his head.

"Please let me in Sammy," Cas begs.

"Sure," Sammy says, eyes zeroed in on Gabriel. Probably looking for hidden erotic confectionaries.

Once inside, the brunette leaves his family in order to find Dean. He wanders first into the kitchen, and quickly regrets it, because the scene that greets him is a little too weird for his tastes. Turkey preparation, he knows intellectually, must be an awkward process. After all, the bird used tends to be incredibly heavy and slightly slippery. Seasoning it must be nothing short of a nightmare. And he knows, that stuffing tends to go inside the turkey, and for it to get there, it must be introduced into the cavity in a mildly forceful manner. Intellectually, he knows this.

"Keep spreadin' 'em, Jo," Ms. Ellen orders, face at the same level as the turkey.

The daughter is holding on to the poor dead bird's legs, and dutifully spreading them wide in order for her mother to shove in handful after handful of stuffing. The whole slightly obscene process is being accomplished with military precision, and Castiel twitches before he backpedals away from the kitchen. He crashes against Sam, who still looks slightly spooked.

"I hate Thanksgiving preparations," the younger teenager admits. "Everyone goes crazier than normal."

"I can tell," Castiel comments dryly, trying to banish the events he's just witnessed. He knows he won't be able to eat his portion of the bird if he continues thinking about it.

Sam snorts. "Jo and Aunt Ellen? That's normal. I'm talking about _them_,_" _and he jerks a hand back towards the kitchen. Cas frowns; the only people in the kitchen were the two women. He's about to explain this, when the boy elaborates. "Dean and Uncle Bobby. They're out there."

Oh. His boyfriend is in the back of the house. And to get to him, he has to go through the Terrifying Stuffing Scene again. Perhaps he can wait for Dean in the TV room.

Before the seventeen-year-old can open his mouth to reassure Sam that Dean is perfectly fine and just let him be, and wouldn't it be so much better if they went and watched cartoons on TV, and maybe the Macy's parade in a little while?, Sam is already pushing him back into the dreaded kitchen. Ms. Ellen has a thick, sinister-looking needle in her hand, and Jo is holding the turkey's flaps of skin together and oh God they are _sewing _the turkey.

Castiel clamps his eyes shut, letting Dean's brother guide him to the back door. He knows that they pass by the women, but apparently they are too _preoccupied _to acknowledge his presence. Fine with him, it means he doesn't have to interact with them while they _sew a turkey shut_. And then a door creaks open, and the cold from outside sweeps in, and before he knows it, he's being shoved out. He stumbles slightly, since there is one tiny step between the door and the ground, and when he turns back to the door, he finds that it's closed again. Sam is peering through a tiny space between the curtain and the door's window. Something shiny reflects on the glass and Castiel turns to look at an inferno.

Or no, not really an inferno. More like a massive campfire. Or something; he's not very well versed in outdoor cooking terminology. Because somewhere in the wall of fire—and it's a wall, even if it's a low one (the thing is nearly ten feet wide, too)—Castiel catches glimpses of four turkeys rotating on sticks and most assuredly spit roasting themselves.

And supervising it all is one Bobby Singer and one Dean Winchester.

"Feed the fire under turkey number two; the flames look like they're dying," Mr. Singer orders, and his boyfriend hastens to comply. Gloved fingers chuck a couple more pieces of coal, then squirts lighter fluid onto it all. The flames raise high with a sudden _whoosh! _And Castiel tumbles back in surprise, because he actually felt the heat all the way where he's standing. Dean is whooping and laughing, as Mr. Singer keeps a satisfied gaze over it all.

"I'll come back later," he mumbles to himself, but Dean must have bionic hearing because the blonde's head jerks in his direction. It feels like those green eyes are pinning him there against the closed door, and Cas's heart speeds up.

"Uncle Bobby, sir!" the sixteen-year-old suddenly says in a loud voice. It's a strange thing, Cas thinks, for Dean to call Mr. Singer 'sir.' Sure, he's heard him call his father 'sir,' but never Mr. Singer. It's usually either 'Uncle Bobby' or just 'Bobby.'

"Yeah, Winchester?" answers the older man in question. And that's even stranger, Cas thinks again; Mr. Singer has never called Dean anything else than 'Dean.' Or 'idjit.'

"Request to step away from the Roasting Premises!"

"Request denied," Mr. Singer drawls.

Dean pouts. "But sir, Cas is here."

The man looks sideways, finds the brunettes, grimaces, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, alright. Access granted for five minutes. Five minutes only, Winchester."

"Sir, yes, sir!" And with that, a smile spreads across Dean's face, and he breaks off into a jog to reach Castiel.

"Hi," he whispers breathlessly, just after he stops inches away from crashing their bodies together. His boyfriend smells of smoke and lighter fluid.

"Hello Dean," Castiel answers, smiling back as well. "What are you doing?"

Dean's face brightens up in excitement. "Cooking the turkeys. It's tradition. We do it this way 'cause five turkeys just won't fit in a kitchen oven," he explains giddily.

"Three minutes!" hollers Mr. Singer.

"Everything's gotta be perfect, so we run a tight schedule," the blonde continues a little faster.

"Um…ok."

"Yeah. Sorry that I can't hang out with your right now. The turkeys need me."

The turkeys need him. Oh, he's not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

"No, no," Cas hastens to reassure, "You go back to the turkeys. I've got Sam in the house. We can talk books."

"One minute!"

"Thanks, Cas. Seriously, you're awesome."

"Sure."

"Thirty seconds!"

Castiel frown. "Dean, I think Mr. Singer's notion of time is a little sk—"

"Five seconds!"

Just when he's about to protest the outrageous leap, Dean plants a heavy, chaste kiss on his mouth that lasts until Mr. Singer announces that their time is up. It leaves him breathless, and he can feel himself blushing just slightly.

"See you," Dean says, giving him a saucy wink before jogging back to his post guarding the fiery 'roasting premises.'

He watches his boyfriend for a few seconds, before heaving a great sigh and returning to the kitchen and promptly producing a horrified gargle at the site that greets him.

He forgot about the last turkey. And the girls are _running the turkey through with a steel bar. _Worst of all, his uncles and his aunts were all watching avidly.

With a violent shudder, he runs for the safety of the TV room.

* * *

.

.

Other guests don't start trickling by until almost midday. The first to arrive is Becky, along with an older gentleman he assumes to be her father. The girl behaves just as Castiel expected; extremely loud, and dissolving into various bouts of giggling. At least he got a tight hug out of the deal; he'll admit the girl gives nice hugs. Thankfully, Jo has long since finished her turkey torture sessions and fills in the roll of entertaining her friend, as Ms. Ellen starts an easy conversation with the gentleman.

Then comes Garth, and his mother brings five different kinds of pie. "I didn't know what flavor to bring," she chirps in way of explanation.

After that is the nice Sheriff Mills with her husband and adorable child. And then Ash, and Principal Moseley ('Don't think about what you and Dean did yesterday. Don't think about what you and Dean did yesterday,' he prays), and Andy the Delivery Guy (he gets a hug out of that meeting as well, although it's not as nice), and both Coach Turner and Henriksen—although the latter looks a little apprehensive. Cas can't imagine why; it's not like he's glaring daggers into the side of the man's head—and then some other people he's never met before.

The house feels like it's full to the brim. There's loud chatter and laughter everywhere, as they wait for the main course to be ready.

("T-minus forty five minutes!" announced Dean proudly when asked just a little earlier.)

His Uncle Gabriel manages to strike up a conversation with Principal Moseley, of all people. All Novaks present in the house are astonished when they witness the man pull a laugh out of the usually stern woman. Of course, the fruity alcoholic drinks he keeps serving her might have helped the matter as well.

Meg is the final guest to enter the Singer household, and her arrival causes a temporary hush in the happy mood. But then Ms. Ellen welcomes her into the house as warmly as she can, given the recent situation—the woman mechanically hugs the girl and pats her back exactly three times—and everyone goes back to the festivities.

She then finds a way to hide behind Castiel without appearing to be intimidated by the crowd. "Don't you dare leave me alone," she hisses into his ear as she lazily wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind.

"Relax," he hisses back trying to be comforting, "Ms. Ellen only bites when she has to." The indecipherable choking sound Meg makes in the back of her throat leads him to believe she isn't comforted at all.

A woman who introduced herself as Pamela Barnes decides to take center stage then, and regales them all with the story of how she met Bobby Singer. Apparently it involved a rubber band, a hula-hoop, and a duck. It's so incredible Castiel can't help but believe it.

It is when the turkeys are done that he finally sees Dean again. He and Mr. Singer march in roasted bird after roasted bird, and align them on the dining room table in what can only be described as ritualistic perfection. Jo and her mother move the other dishes around, to present the food as visually pleasing as possible. This, he finds familiar, what with the Novak kitchen table always filling to the brim with foodstuff nearly every day for dinner.

Dean does this thing, where his body's posture changes from something straight and tense, to lose and comfortable in the blink of an eye, and traipses over to Cas's side. He's gifted with one of his boyfriend's big wide smiles, and has his hand taken into a calloused grasp. Meg elbows the brunette in the ribs and he elbows back, knowing very well that she's trying to silently mock their 'cutesy-poopsy' relationship. Her words, not his.

Everyone is sort of squished together in the dining room, and every other entrance available, trying to get a glimpse of the first turkey carving. They all quiet down as Mr. Singer pulls out a long, serrated knife from the side of his pants. As everyone watches with bated breath, he makes a show of inspecting the blade, turning it over one side, then the other, until he makes a satisfied sound in his throat. Some people actually cheer when he makes the first cut into the tender meat.

Dinner is served immediately after that, and it is a mess. A truly wonderful, noisy, happy mess of people trying to find a spot to eat. Some sit on the dinner table chairs, others in the TV room, most of the younger people sit on the floor, their backs to a wall. He and Dean manage to claim and squeeze together on the ancient armchair sitting in a corner of the TV room.

It's good. The best plate of Thanksgiving dinner Castiel has ever had. Naturally, he goes for seconds. It's when he's returning from the dinner table with thirds (just a few spoonfuls of stuffing and a bit of potato salad, this time) that an unexpected hitch heads his and Dean's way.

Garth's mom is so skinny, she literally only takes up half a couch cushion. But earlier, Uncle Gabriel had cajoled her into a few glasses of rum, and now there she was: face flushed a pretty pink, wide smile on her face, arms flailing about as she animatedly tells them all of a previous Thanksgiving mishap with Garth's departed father. Her joy seems to take over the entire room.

"And then he said, he said, 'It's only a few cracks!'" her punch line is hilarious, and everyone laughs, even as they clutch at their too-full stomachs. She gives a misty-eyed sigh as the laughter dies down. Castiel chooses that moment to try and scrape the last of the potato salad off the plate and into his fork. The metal-on-porcelain screech caught the attention of the woman. "So Castiel," she begins, resting her face on her hand, "how did you do it?"

The seventeen-year-old looks up from trying to decide whether or not licking the plate is a worthwhile endeavor, and finds the whole room looking at him. "How did I do what?"

"Oh you know," she continues cheerfully, eyes bouncing from Dean to him and back again, "catch and keep the elusive Dean Winchester." Most of the people present chuckle. "Tell me all about how you two met!"

Dean and Castiel freeze in place. Dean's pose would have been hilarious, what with his boyfriend's cheeks bulging from having just stuffed virtually a whole slice of pie in his mouth, but it really isn't. Because not once, ever, has someone who isn't a close friend asked either of him how they met.

Castiel can hear siren wails in his mind. They're deafening. Besides him, Dean tries to sink his body deeper into the chair. Meg, who is sitting by his feet, sinks her nails into his right ankle. He's sure she's smiling wickedly.

Mr. Singer breaks the sudden silence with a loud, barking laugh. He and Ms. Ellen are sitting on some foldout chairs right in the middle of the room. "I'll tell ya, what happened!" the man begins with glee. "Mr. LA over there," he points over at Balthazar, who's sitting on the arm of the only other armchair in the room. Xica has taken over the seat itself, while Vivi perches almost regally on the other arm. "He thought driving through dirt was like driving through the freeway." The boyfriend's share a sudden relieved glance, eyes still a little wide. Mr. Singer always captivates his audience when he tells a story. The teenager's won't have to say a thing. "Boy was speeding down the roads, and the tires of his pretty car just couldn't take it! Ended up with me having to help 'im out. Brought 'im and Cas back to the yard, and told 'im—"

"Oh, Bobby," Garth's mom interrupts. From the corner of his eye, he can see Dean's face twitch. Oh, God. "I'm sure you worked wonders on Balthazar's car. I want Castiel to tell me everything from his point of view. Now, what happened when you reached the Salvage Yard?"

There are eyes pinning them to the chair. Cas tries to sink back into the chair as well. They're both so squished together they can barely breathe. It doesn't matter. They try to sink even deeper at the same time.

"What happened?" the blue-eyed teenager squeaks after the silence has dragged on for too long. The woman nods enthusiastically. Dean finds his hand and grips it tight.

"Well," Dean begins, and then starts laughing awkwardly. "Um…" he clears his throat. "So…Cas was there, with Mr. Novak. And…" From besides him the brunette can smell smoke as the blonde tries to come up with a non-sexual version of what happened after they locked eyes that very first time. As the silence stretches, Castiel decides it's up to him to continue.

"And I needed to use the bathroom." This is a perfectly believable reason to have entered the house back then. Unfortunately, Dean had chosen the same moment to deliver his own reason.

"He was thirsty!" Their voices mingle together, and they both cringe when they realize what happened. They quickly try to rectify the error.

"I was thirsty."

"He needed to use the bathroom!"

Someone just shoot them. Jo, who is somewhere on the floor on Dean's side, let's out a giggle. At the confused looks of their audience, the blonde hastens to explain.

"It was one of those things. Like when you're tired but you can't fall asleep? Well, he was thirsty but he needed too pee first." Castiel nods frantically. "So he did."

"I did. And after I did, we went to the kitchen." Dean tenses besides him. Sometimes, when they call each other and decide to do dirty things over the phone, they revisit their memories of their first encounter in that kitchen. They tell each other what they felt, what they thought, and what they did. It never gets old. "And Dean offered me," Castiel continues. His voice breaks a bit, so he chooses to clear his throat and take a breath before finishing. "Lemonade."

Except he took too long and Dean decided to finish for him with a very resound declaration of, "Pie." Both options hang in the air at the same time.

Castiel and Dean flinch as everyone's eyebrows rise skywards. Meg snorts unattractively. "I thought I was thirsty, Dean," he mutters.

"Shit," Dean hisses to himself, before giving out a loud sigh. The blonde suddenly crawls out of his hiding place, leaning forwards until his elbows rest on his knees. He peers at everyone with a determined gaze. Apprehension clutches at Castiel's stomach. His boyfriend isn't going to tell the truth, is he? "Alright, look. This is what happened."

Everyone has this confused look on their faces as they lean forward in interest. It's truly unbecoming, but Cas can't blame them. He clutches at the back of his boyfriend's shirt.

"The future is a place torn by war and desperation," Dean begins, voice hushed as if he were telling a campfire ghost story. "In a last ditch of hope, Sergeant Castiel Novak travels back in time to stop the horror before it even happens. It is in the past that he meets the mysterious Dean Winchester; a rebel without a cause who—"

Someone throws a bit of turkey bone at him.

"What?" Dean demands, cocky smile in place as he leans back to rest his body against Castiel's.

"You are horrible Dean Winchester," Mrs. Garth giggles while everyone grumbles and shakes their heads.

Before someone tries to get them to tell the truth of their meeting again, Castiel kicks at Meg. She looks up at him, one eyebrow elegantly arched as he tries to convey his message in silence. His friend rolls her eyes, but does as asked.

"What about you, Mrs. Garth?" Meg asks, and she actually manages to sound interested. "How did you and Mr. Garth meet?"

As the thin woman sighs and easily starts telling them all about the ridiculous meeting of who would be her husband, Castiel and Dean sag in relief.

"Let's not go through that again," Cas whispers into Dean's ear, the blonde bristles of his boyfriend's hair tickling his nose.

"Ok," Dean answers just as quietly, one hand coming to rest on his knee and squeezing slightly.

* * *

.

.

Dean managed to give everyone the slip some ten minutes back, and Castiel finds the opportunity to do so as well when Ash starts doing the Gangnam Style dance.

He finds his boyfriend just outside the back door, sitting on the tiny step and looking over the charred remains of the Roasting Premises.

"Dean," he says through the door's window glass and the blonde startles slightly before craning his head around to find the source of his voice. Dean gives him a wide smile and eagerly stands up and enters the house.

They share a soft, chaste kiss as soon as he's inside. "You're cold," Cas mutters with a frown against the frigid lips. Dean smiles and gives him another kiss.

"Your warm," he counters, and Cas finds himself giving a tiny smile. "That was close, you know," he continues talking, after they separate and he starts to rummage the fridge for what Cas knows are any forgotten desserts. "Back there, when Garth's mom asked about how we met."

"It's our own fault. We never gave it much thought. We should have prepared a story acceptable for the general audience months ago." Castiel rest his hip on the counter next to the refrigerator. Dean emerges with a bowl of chocolate pudding, and is already licking a pudding-covered finger.

"Mm. It's got to be something simple," he says between licks. "And very sappy." He dips his finger into the bowl and then presents it to Cas. "What do you think?"

His blue eyes travel from the finger to a pair of quickly darkening green eyes. He licks his own lips before sealing his mouth around the offered digit and sucking the dessert languidly. Dean's breathing hitches.

"We can say we saw each other, across the yard," Castiel begins in a rough voice after pulling off with a wet _pop._ "Our gazes locked and we just knew."

"Knew what?" Dean asks breathily as he dips his finger into the bowl and offers it to his boyfriend again.

"That it was love at first sight," Castiel answers, tongue flicking out and licking one long stripe from knuckle to tip. "And then we can add something vague like, 'And the rest is history.'"

"That," Dean answers, placing the bowl on the counter besides them. "That," he begins again, only to stutter when Cas takes the whole finger. "That's a good cover up," he finally spits out before pulling out his finger and licking his way hungrily into the brunette's mouth.

Castiel responds eagerly, one hand flying up to tangle in the short blonde locks, the other grabbing tight to a belt loop and pulling him forward as much as he can. They tumble around, Dean pushing, and Cas pulling, trying to get as close as possible.

They end up crashing against the wall that holds the land line. Castiel's shoulder clips the phone at it falls, swinging and bouncing on its spiral cord. The sight of it sends them both giggling, because they suddenly realize that they're repeating their actions from June when there are people milling around just outside the kitchen.

"Good times," Castiel whispers into Dean's neck as they calm down, and just settle for leaning against each other.

"Yeah," Dean whispers back, pulling just a little bit away so that they are facing each other again. "I love you." The words are muttered against his lips, and Castiel just breathes them in, let's them fill his insides.

"I love you, too," Castiel exhales, pushing the words back into Dean. The blonde swallows them all in a heady gasp, before sealing their lips together into another kiss.

Outside, the first snowflakes start falling from the sky.

* * *

**_fin._**

* * *

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**A/N 2: I am aware that this story is filled with grammatical errors. Know that this story had no beta, and some of them were mine, while others were caused by 's strange uploading hoodoo. I will try and go over it all to try and polish my baby as best as I can at some point in the future. ****As mentioned before, this story will be published in AO3 as well. And anyone who wishes to rec this story in any destiel site is free to do so xD (oh Tumblr, how do I love thee...).**

**I want to thank every single person who reviewed my baby and inspired me to continue writing. CASISMYFAVORITE, you really should get an account :). **

**Please know that starting January 12, 2013 until April of the very same year, I will be MIA. This is due to something which I'm really excited about. I don't know if you guys remember me complaining about budgets and what not several chapters ago. Well, just so you know, I'm an accountant, and come January, I'll be persuing my CPA license. I'll be taking half the test at the beginning of the year, and I enrolled in some really intensive review classes. I have to give my entire concentration to this thing, so yeah. I'm placing a self-imposed ban in all things fanfiction (a horrified shriek can be heard in the background). I have to do this, guys. I just have to (sob). Wish me luck! **

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**AND PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!**

**I LOVE YOU ALL, FIVE-EVER!**

**~angels**


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